


Welcome to Burlesque

by LadyOfPurple



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Saucy Business™️, Slow Burn, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Suggestive Themes, Touch-Starved, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, caleb.exe has stopped working, jester is literally a stripper in this idk what to tell you, molly is an asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-01-24 04:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfPurple/pseuds/LadyOfPurple
Summary: Caleb glanced around as the lights dimmed further, the colors of the clustered spotlights shifting to pale purples and blues as they centered on the ruffled curtains concealing the stage. The few patrons still standing flitted closer, edging around the tables even though the bar had a decent view — even Nott had stilled her wiping of glasses to watch, and he was mildly surprised to find himself mostly alone at the bar. An unexpected hush had settled over the venue, as though the whole club had been eagerly anticipating… whatever was about to happen. A disembodied voice of indeterminate gender, likely magically amplified, boomed out over the crowd.“And now,” it said, “the Lavish Chateau is proud to present to you… the Little Sapphire!”---TheBurlesqueAU no-one asked for.





	1. Pour Some Sugar On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by [Def Leppard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14iHRpk9qvQ/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone remember the Iconic™️ 2010 film _Burlesque_ , starring Christina Aguilera and the immortal Cher?
> 
> No? Just me? Ok, cool.

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Caleb. The dim light concealed the surely bright red of his face, but Mollymauk merely grinned.

“ _You’re_ ridiculous,” he teased, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Stop being such a prude and lighten _up_ a little, Widogast. Might do you some good.”

“C’mon, Caleb!” Beau shouted over the music and nudged him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “We’re here for Fjord, remember? Gotta help him get his freak on one last time.”

“Yes, and how will your _wife_ feel about this?” said Caleb pointedly in Fjord’s general direction, but Fjord wasn’t listening. He was too busy blushing heavily as a curvy waitress with elven features and little clothing slipped past and shot him a wink on the way. Caleb sighed. “Hopeless,” he grumbled to nobody in particular. “You are all _hopeless_.”

Molly patted him fondly on the cheek and winked. “Hope is overrated.”

“Why are we here again?”

“It’s _tradition_ , darling.” He swept his free arm wide, taking in the club, the bar, the stage. The women. The men. “The drinks are good, the entertainment better, and—” He winked again, “—the employee discount means we’re gonna have a _lot_ of both.”

“Yeah, why are you coming here on your day off, anyway?” said Beau. “Not that I’m complaining,” she added, catching the eye of another scantily-clad waitress and giving her an appreciative once-over, “but there must be, like, twenty strip clubs in this part of town alone.”

“Only the best for our Fjord here,” said Molly airily, “and this place _is_ the best. _Especially_ for soon-to-be _ex-_ bachelors. Speaking of which—” And here he clapped Fjord heartily on the back, who gave a very red-faced start, “—see anyone you like?”

“I — y’know,” stuttered Fjord, and swallowed. “Maybe Caleb’s right, this is a little… uh…” He trailed off into nothing as the dancer currently on stage did an impressive flip and twirled around her pole.

Molly pouted. “You lot are no fun at all. This is supposed to be a _celebration_! Let your hair down! Live a little!”

“I wanna live a little,” said Beau. The waitress she was ogling winked.

“What we need,” said Molly decisively, looping his other arm around Fjord’s elbow, “is some _drinks_. Loosen you two up. You know, if you’re not careful, your face will stick that way,” he added to Caleb, who was still frowning.

“Good, then I won’t have to put any effort into it in the future,” said Caleb, but Molly had stopped listening.

“Veth!” he yelled instead, dragging the two men with him in the direction of the bar, Beau trailing distractedly behind. “How’s my favorite bartender this fine evening?”

The plump halfling woman behind the bar rolled her eyes good-naturedly as he leaned over to fix her with a winning smile. “It’s _Nott_ at work, remember?” she chided. The colored neon lights reflecting from the stage danced over her golden skin, illuminating patches of a lighter shade on her face and arms that glowed with pink, now blue, now yellow.

“But Veth is _such_ a lovely name,” purred Molly. “Why let it go to waste by not saying it?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, circus man.”

“True, but it’s so much _fun_.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Who are your friends?”

“Fjord, Beau, Caleb,” he said, indicating them each in turn, “allow me to introduce the finest bartender in all of Nicodranas, Veth Brenatto — and, dare I say, the prettiest?” he added, batting his eyes a little.

“Call me Nott,” said Nott, and sighed. “All four of you tonight, then?”

Molly’s grin widened. “Put it on my tab.”

She shook her head, turning to Caleb, who had finally wriggled free of Molly’s grasp. “What’ll it be?”

“Ah… a beer, I suppose.”

She looked at him blankly. “We have a lot of those,” she said. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He examined the rows upon rows of taps and waved his hand vaguely. “Surprise me,” he said.

Nott opened her mouth as if to argue but shrugged instead, pulling out a glass and picking a tap seemingly at random. The beer she slid across to him was dark in color, though its precise hue was difficult to tell in the dim, pulsing atmosphere of the club. It was bitter, but not unpleasant; he turned to nod his thanks at her, but she’d already moved on to his companions.

Caleb nursed his drink instead, leaning with his back to the bar as he surveyed the sea of people surrounding them — some clustered around tables, a few groups writhing on the dance floor off to the side, provocatively-dressed waiters and waitresses weaving among them all. The club itself was large, grand and sprawling, somehow ostentatious without being vulgar; sleek, dark wood, rich velvet curtains, tasteful gold ornamentation. It would have been a nice place, he mused, one he wouldn’t mind being at, really, were it not for the absurdly loud music. The bassline thumped deep in his chest. It really was deafening.

The woman on the stage, a lithe half-elf in clothing so skimpy it was remarkable it stayed on her at all, did a final revolution around the pole and dismounted in a frankly painful-looking display involving dropping six feet directly into the splits — although she remained smiling the entire time. He supposed that alone justified the raucous cheers as the music faded out, the stage rapidly becoming littered with crumpled bills as the patrons showered their monetary appreciation on her; he hadn’t been paying close enough attention to the rest of her performance to tell if it had all been as impressive.

The music died down a bit as the curtains dropped over the stage, presumably to hide the young woman collecting her earnings. At least he could finally hear himself think again.

A waitress sauntered over to return a tray of dirty glasses and eyed him coyly, leaning a bit further over the bar next to him than was strictly necessary and flashing him a flirtatious smirk. He raked a nervous hand reflexively through his hair and took a large swig of his beer as he quickly looked away, feeling the hot flush creeping up his neck and over his ears. Sure, Fjord was getting married. To Avantika, of all people, but that was his business. As a friend, Caleb _should_ be at his bachelor party, which was why he’d reluctantly let himself be dragged out tonight, instead of sitting at home with Frumpkin and tea and at least seven books he’d been meaning to read.

The waitress brushed his arm as she left the bar.

 _Scheisse_ , this was going to be a long night.

Beau had already peeled off from the group, her waitress friend beckoning coquettishly as soon as she’d gotten a drink in hand, leaving the men clustered together at the bar. Molly left Fjord to fend for himself and sidled up to Caleb, some kind of elaborate cocktail dripping condensation down his lavender fingers. “Having fun yet?” he asked, red eyes dancing in the low light.

“We’ve barely been here twenty minutes.”

“So? That’s plenty of time, if you play your cards right.”

Caleb took another swig of beer.

Molly’s tail swished behind him. “Look, you could at least _pretend_ to enjoy yourself for, like, five minutes,” he said, pointedly raising an eyebrow. “I know you absolutely hate fun, but you could _pretend_.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “I do not _‘hate fun_ , _’_ Mollymauk.”

“Well, you’re doing an awfully good job at acting like it.”

Caleb opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, and sighed instead. “Very well,” he said. “I will _try_.” He drained his glass and set it on the bar as Molly clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good man. Veth!” Nott finished helping another patron, glancing over at them as Molly pointed to Caleb’s empty glass. “Another over here, if you wouldn’t mind terribly?”

“Same again?” she asked.

Caleb nodded. “What is it?” he said as she slid the new glass across the bar. “I don’t think I’ve had this kind before.”

“It’s Dwarven,” she said. “Not my favorite, but it’s popular. Some guy named Balgus has a brewery over in Tal’Dorei. Supplies us at a discount.”

“Ah, _Balgus._ ” Molly sagged against the bar, sipping his cocktail thoughtfully. “Unpleasant fellow, but he’s damn good at what he does so I suppose the money saved is worth it.”

“I just wish he’d stop delivering in person,” said Nott crossly. “He’s going to break my bar one day if he won’t stop trying to beat Yasha at arm wrestling. It’ll never happen.”

“Not if his pride breaks first. He’ll get it through his head eventually.” The rings on his horns glinted as the light shifted slightly, and Molly glanced toward the stage with a slow grin. “Oh,” he said. “I forgot she was performing tonight. How utterly _perfect._ ”

“Who?” said Caleb.

Molly didn’t answer directly, clapping him on the shoulder again instead. “You’ll like _this_ ,” he said cryptically. “Excuse me a moment, I couldn’t stand it if Fjord missed her. Dear Gianna will just have to wait.” And then he was gone, slipping through the tables to extricate a furiously blushing Fjord from the attentions from a waifish air genasi.

Caleb glanced around as the ambient lights dimmed further, the colors of the clustered spotlights shifting to pale purples and blues as they centered on the ruffled curtains concealing the stage. The few patrons still standing flitted closer, edging around the tables even though the bar had a decent view — even Nott had stilled her wiping of glasses to watch, and he was mildly surprised to find himself mostly alone at the bar. An unexpected hush had settled over the venue, as though the whole club had been eagerly anticipating… whatever was about to happen. A disembodied voice of indeterminate gender, likely magically amplified, boomed out over the crowd.

“And now,” it said, “the Lavish Chateau is proud to present to you… the Little Sapphire!”

If it said anything else, it was drowned out by the deafening cheers and hooting as the assembled patrons burst out in excited applause. _‘Strange name,’_ thought Caleb, tracing the rim of his glass absently. Perhaps their act involved jewelry of some sort. A halfling, or maybe a gnome — no, a dwarf, of course. Gems and all that.

It took a good thirty seconds for the noise to die down enough for the music to start, and even then he supposed they would have continued to drown out the soundtrack if the curtain hadn’t begun to rise — it was that sort of energy, entirely different from the general enthusiasm for the previous performer; now so avid and impatient, the room was barely able to contain it. Whoever the “Little Sapphire” was, they must be rather good.

At first the stage seemed quite empty. There was no pole anymore, for a start; no props of any kind that he could see. Only a bundle of black feathers, about three feet tall, visible in the center as fog from an unseen source floated over the polished floor — no, not a bundle; a pair of feathered fans, just wide enough to conceal a human-sized person if they were crouching —

A head poked out and smirked and — oh. _Oh._

As she unfolded herself and fluttered the fans to the beat of the heavy drumline, he noted dimly that she was, in fact, little for a tiefling — in height, at least. The satin corset hugged her generous curves enticingly, the tops of her breasts nearly spilling over the sweetheart neckline, the floaty material of her train obscuring — she turned then, the short ruffles of the front of her skirt revealing thick, lightly freckled thighs that gleamed and shimmered as she gyrated to the music. The lacy band of a garter on her left leg was hiked up high over sheer stockings, and his breath caught unexpectedly in his throat. Her dark hair, tousled and threaded with gems that sparkled as the light caught them, barely dripped past her naked shoulders, blunt bangs curling over violet eyes accentuated with heavy eyeliner as the lashes fluttered and dipped.

He’d never seen a blue tiefling before.

He didn’t even entirely notice she was blue until the light shifted to yellows and reds, so entranced he was by her, and so fluidly did she move, that it wasn’t until after the fact of her skin had registered belatedly in his mind that he realized she’d discarded the fans entirely as the chorus hit — no longer hiding and teasing and shy but _dancing_ now — hips writhing, chest heaving, tail curling and swishing as her delicate hands explored the planes of her body. Long fingers crested the gems speckling the top of her corset and his breath hitched in spite of himself; but no, her hands were in her hair now, lights winking off the silver threads wrapped around her curling horns, and she dropped low, moving in a languid curve back up as Caleb felt something deep inside him _shift_ , twisting and contorting as she did, and somehow his mouth was dry, even as he still held a slowly warming sip of beer on his tongue he haltingly remembered to swallow.

Her head flicked in his direction and _winked._

The room was tilting, everything was spinning, but it _couldn’t_ be, because his feet were rooted firmly in place, and no force on any plane of existence could have shifted him from where he stood. He was mesmerized, transfixed, a fire could have broken out and burned the place to ashes around him — and for all he knew, it could be going up in flames _already_ , it was so _warm_ in here suddenly, surely it wasn’t this hot when Molly had dragged him in here in the first place — because the rest of the club was inconsequential now; the world was reduced to him, her, and the stage on which she danced.

There was something almost obscene about the way she moved, and yet somehow, impossibly, heart-wrenchingly innocent; it couldn’t possibly be _allowed_ , shouldn’t be possible full stop, and certainly not so in _public_ ; he felt like a voyeur, as though he were intruding on something intimate and intensely private, and yet he found himself infinitely grateful for it — the sensuous way her hips rolled as she flicked her wrists; the mischievous grin on her face and large, wide eyes fluttering as she swung her head, twirling in place; a high kick, the muscles in her calf and gartered thigh taut beneath ample flesh and — this was ridiculous. There was no way this woman wasn’t using magic of some kind, a charm spell, _something_ …

A tiny, somehow still-functioning part of his brain was screaming at him — _‘Blink, look away, do_ literally anything _, you’re making a fool out of yourself!’_ — and he nearly managed to listen, too; nearly shaken himself from his punch-drunk stupor, nearly resisting her charms far too late.

Of course, he couldn’t have anticipated the _honey_.

He had no idea where she’d pulled it from — she couldn’t possibly have concealed it on her person, there was nowhere she could have hidden a jar that big; perhaps it had been handed to her as he was otherwise distracted — but then the first stream of it trickled from her finger to her lips and it didn’t matter anymore because he’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. He could _hear_ his pulse, thundering in his ears, impossibly loud and impossibly hard and somehow she kept perfect time to the beat of his heart as the drums pounded through him in sync. It occurred to him vaguely that he was holding his glass too tight, gripping the thing so hard his fingers _hurt_ , he should probably put it down before it shattered all over him and the floor, and then honey dripped lazily down her chin and down to her chest and his mind went utterly blank.

The lavender-pink of her tongue flicked out, catching a single oozing drop from her plush lips with a wicked glint in her eye — she threw her head back, hair cascading as those long blue fingers traced the path the honey had taken across her skin, smearing it slightly, and his gut _writhed_ — he tried to swallow harshly but his throat had closed in on itself and he couldn’t even bring himself to care —

The jar was gone again and the feathered fans were somehow back in her hands, fluttering and obscuring and revealing her body again as she swayed and rocked and spun, suddenly demure again and yet not; more wild this time, looser and playful and _free_ , a young woman dancing as though nobody was watching, _but he was_ and every part of him was electrified and numb at the same time —

There was a roaring in his ears now, but it wasn’t in his ears, it was _outside_ , it was coming from the crowd around him because there _was_ a crowd, hordes and hordes of people surrounding the stage and — why had she stopped? He blinked in a daze and she had stilled, fans fluttering, and the music had stopped, and just like that, it was all over. She threw one final wink over a freckled shoulder and his heart stuttered, and then the curtain had fallen and she was gone.

“Careful not to trip, Beau,” came Mollymauk’s loud, teasing voice. “I think I see Caleb’s jaw on the floor over there.”

He blinked again and somehow he wasn’t alone anymore; Molly had wrangled Beau and Fjord back to the bar at some point and was watching him with a shit-eating grin as Caleb struggled to come back from his daze. It had only been four minutes; four whole minutes — or was it five? He’d never been unsure about time before — which was hardly any time at all, really, but seemed like an eternity all the same. Somehow he managed to turn away, discarding his still mostly full glass on the bar as he dragged an only mildly shaking hand through his hair. _‘Verdammt.’_

“Holy _shit_ ,” said Fjord distantly.

“Who _was_ that?” said Beau, sounding similarly awe-struck. Molly spread his hands wide, still with that indulgent, gloating expression on his face.

“ _That_ ,” he said, sounding for all the world like the cat that ate the canary, “was the second-best dancer on the Menagerie Coast.” He paused for effect. “ _Jester Lavorre_.”

Caleb felt, ridiculously, like he’d run a marathon; short of breath, palms sweating and heart still racing and every nerve on fire. Jester. Her name was _Jester_.

“Only second-best?” Fjord swallowed. “Well, _shit_.”

“Wait, did you say _‘Lavorre’_?” said Beau. “As in your _boss_ , Lavorre?”

“The very same,” said Molly. “Daughter of the Ruby of the Sea herself.” He nudged Caleb playfully in the ribs, who jumped to attention at the intrusion. “ _So_?” he prompted.

“Ah. It…” He swallowed, still leaning too heavily on the bar. _‘Gottverdammt.’_ “She was… _skilled_ , to be sure,” he managed delicately.

“ _‘Skilled’_?” snorted Beau. “Jesus, keep it in your pants, Caleb.”

“Now, now,” said Molly, his voice filled with mock-concern, “don’t poke fun.” His eyes glinted in the low light as his gaze flicked back to Caleb. “It’s not _his_ fault he’s only just discovered he has a dick.”

Caleb ignored them, staring unseeingly at the fading foam on the surface of his beer, making a valiant effort to regain control of himself. Nott was looking him up and down with a keen eye.

“First time?” she asked sympathetically.

He managed a small nod. She wordlessly slid him a shot of whiskey, which he downed in equal silence, barely even noticing the burn on the way down. Gods, he must look _pathetic._

He’d never been one to shy away from sex, exactly. He wasn’t some blushing virgin. He read _smut_. Strip clubs weren’t his preferred choice of venue, of course, but he wasn’t _inexperienced_. It might have been a while, to be fair, but it wasn’t as if he’d never seen a beautiful woman before. But somehow… Somehow, it was different. _She_ was different.

 _‘Of course she’s different,’_ he thought. _‘This is her_ job _. Of course she’s good at it.’_ But that wasn’t quite it either.

He was vaguely aware of Molly muttering something to Beau and them moving off, Fjord trailing behind; he supposed they must have grown bored of his silence, but all he felt was gratitude as he allowed his head to sink onto his hands as he ran them over his face, pressing hard into his eyes until he saw stars.

 _‘Charm spell,’_ he decided. That _must_ be it; there was no other reason she could have affected him like that. But he didn’t _feel_ charmed, in the arcane sense, and he wasn’t the only one affected by her performance — Fjord had left looking like he’d been hit in the head, and the gnome who’d stumbled up to perch next to him at the bar was downing shots like nobody’s business, singing the Little Sapphire’s praises to anyone who would listen. He didn’t know of any spell that could affect a hundred people at once, anyway. Somehow the thought didn’t unsettle him as much as it should, and that was… unsettling. _Scheisse_.

Every movement she’d made was seared into his brain, replaying on an endless, torturous loop; every point of her toe, every curl of her tail, the way her skin had shimmered and glowed as though bathed in starlight. It occurred to him then, and he wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before, but she hadn’t shed a single stitch of clothing on that stage.

She hadn’t needed to.

Good God, he needed a drink. His beer was still there beside him, warmer and flatter than before, but he drank it anyway, hardly caring as some slopped out the corners of his mouth and trickled down the stubble of his chin. When it was gone he paused for breath, wiping absently at his face. He felt light-headed. “Could I get some water, please?” he croaked at Nott, who nodded. He’d never been this parched in his _life_.

It wasn’t like him, to find himself so utterly _wrecked_ by a woman he’d never even met. It had been a long time since he’d felt this way. Since he’d _allowed_ himself to — never mind that it had been an accident. She’d caught him completely by surprise.

He’d get over it soon — he _had_ to, this was embarrassing — but for now…

He nearly choked on his water when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Enjoying yourself?” purred Molly’s voice in his ear.

Caleb wiped his chin for the second time that evening and glared at him, and at Beau and Fjord bobbing up beside him.

Molly _tsk_ ed. “Come now, don’t be like that. I’m only teasing.” He walked his fingers delicately over Caleb’s back to loop a friendly arm around his neck, grinning. “But you can’t sit at the bar alone all night. This is still technically a _party_ , you know.” Caleb found himself being gently tugged off the stool he’d collapsed in at some point, only barely managing to deposit his empty glass on the bar before it slipped out of his grasp.

“What, exactly, did you have in mind?” he said. He felt a little sturdier on his feet now as he allowed Molly to drag him along.

“Oh, nothing much,” said Beau, and giggled. Her cheeks were flushed with intoxication.

“You know, it’s so nice that you decided to come out with us tonight,” said Molly, shooting her a _look_.

“Yeah, really means a lot,” said Fjord, nodding a little too enthusiastically.

“We know there are so many _other_ things you’d rather be doing…” Molly continued, leading him up a wide staircase, “…but, well, you seemed to be having _such_ a good time just now, we thought — well, why not keep the good times _coming_?”

Beau was sniggering now. Caleb squinted at her, at the hallway they were now traversing. It was much quieter here, and hardly anyone else around. Doors lined the walls, elegantly labelled, in a script too curled and spidery to make out properly as they passed. “Molly,” he said, apprehension rising, “where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Molly. “Anyway… Jester.” He glanced over. “She was… hmm, _skilled_ , I believe was the term you used?”

“… _Ja_?” Caleb hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question, but the hairs on the back of his neck were starting to stand on end. Something was going on here, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. “Why?”

Molly hummed thoughtfully. “No reason. She _is_ good.”

“ _So_ good,” said Beau.

“Even better in person,” added Fjord. _‘Wait…’_

“So,” said Molly, unable to contain his grin any longer, “how would you like to meet her?”

Caleb had never experienced his body going searing hot and freezing cold simultaneously, but there was a first time for everything, he supposed. “What?” he managed faintly.

In response, Molly merely pointed ahead, at the single open door at the very end of the hallway. And there she was, visible through the gap in the doorframe, adjusting a garter and still clad in the corset she’d danced in; the Little Sapphire herself.

Jester Lavorre.

Her eye makeup had creased a little, patches of her body glitter smeared on her chest from hasty reapplication where the honey had been cleaned away, and one of the thin silver chains wrapped around her horn had tangled in a lock of her ink-dark hair. Caleb swallowed roughly, his heart dropping immediately to the pit of his stomach. She was even more devastating up close.

“I-I don’t think—”

“Oh, but _I_ do.” They were all grinning at him now. His palms were sweating again.

Caleb started squirming, trying to wriggle out of Molly’s grasp, but now Beau and Fjord —  the _traitors_ — had latched on too, frog-marching him across the floor. “No, really, I don’t—” They were ten feet from the room — now five — now two —

“Have fun,” said Molly in a sing-song voice, and shoved him through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy oh boy i would apologize for whatever the hell this end up being but luckily it turns out i'm really really not sorry at all
> 
> [MOLLY MY LOVE.](http://mollymauk-is-fine.tumblr.com/) i knew tumblr was right about you!! + nott is veth in this, because i said so, and also: veth with vitiligo. because yes. 
> 
> and yes, this is exandria, but just imagine for a moment that all the earth music we know and love exists in this modernized universe. somewhere in exandria a fantasy-def leppard penned and recorded their iconic stripper anthem "pour some sugar on me" specifically so a blue tiefling could someday meet her garbage wizard prince charming in her mom's club in a tastefully erotic manner. and the same goes for every other song i want to rip off for this self-indulgent circle-jerk of a fic. so there.
> 
> "but syd," i hear you cry, "if all earth music exists in this au, doesn't this hypothetical also therefore inherently imply the existence of fantasy-kpop?" yes. yes it does. don't worry about it.
> 
> shoutout to [expellialbus](http://expellialbus.tumblr.com/) for screaming about this with me on tumblr for a while and being my unofficial beta sometimes i guess.
> 
> EDIT: minor word changes. posted to tumblr [here.](https://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com/post/184407708223/welcome-to-burlesque-ch1/)
> 
> [main.](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/)   
>  [writing blog.](http://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com/)   
>  [art blog.](http://bloodandpurpleink.tumblr.com/)


	2. Paralyzer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by [Finger Eleven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJk6gZuPKRE/)

Caleb barely managed to catch himself before he fell flat on his face at her feet, tripping and stumbling over the doorframe. He whirled around immediately, but the door had already smacked shut behind him and he could hear Molly cackling madly from the safety of the hallway, and the echoing slaps of what could only be exchanged high-fives.

They’d _planned_ this.

That must’ve been why they’d left him alone at the bar — they planned this while he was trying to get his head back on straight, and he’d been too distracted to notice until it was far too late. The _pricks_.

“You must be Caleb!”

He froze at the sound of her voice, high and sweet and playful — because of _course_ it was. He hadn’t had any idea what she could have sounded like before he heard her but now that he had, he couldn’t possibly imagine her sounding like anything else. She had the light, lilting accent of the Menagerie Coast, and something deep within his chest _ached_ at the sound of his name on her tongue. How did she—?

“I’ve been expecting you.”

They hadn’t just planned this, it wasn’t just a prank meant to embarrass him, throwing him into a room with an unsuspecting dancer. They’d _arranged_ it. Money had probably exchanged hands to put him in this room — oh gods. It was worse than he’d thought.

“You don’t have to leave, you know, you can turn around. It’s okay, I won’t bite.” He could hear the grin in her voice. “Probably.”

_‘Götter helfen mir.’_

Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he turned, very slowly, to face her. The room was plush, a comfortable and elegantly decorated room clearly designed for… private encounters, but relatively small — too small, actually; she was far, far too close to him. She was shorter than him, of course, and even in those kitten heels of hers she barely came up to his chin. Her train had been exchanged for a sheer dressing gown edged in soft down, open and flowing, a sleeve of which had slipped down her shoulder. She was looking at him with those huge, violet eyes, lashes impossibly long and thick over the freckles dusting her button nose, and he swallowed harshly. Gods help him, indeed.

“Hello,” he croaked lamely.

“Hi, I’m Jester!” she said brightly. “It’s very nice to meet you.” She extended a delicate hand and he could only stare at it dumbly. After a moment she retracted it and squinted at him. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

It took a lot more effort than expected to clear his throat. “I — ah, n-no, I can’t say that I have,” he mumbled awkwardly.

“That’s okay,” she said kindly. “Molly said you might be a little nervous.” She extended her hand again and, when he didn’t take it, tugged on his sleeve instead. He was powerless to resist her as she guided him to the long couch that lined the walls, to move away when she gently pulled him down to sit next to her.

“Molly—?”

“He was the one who told me about you,” she explained, a little unnecessarily. “He said he had a friend who would like to _meet_ me, _if you know what I mean_ —” She wiggled her eyebrows, cheeks dimpling, and his heart jumped in his chest, “—and of course I said yes, because Molly has such good taste in friends, but…” She leaned close, a smile somehow simultaneously sweet and sultry curling her lips. “I didn’t expect you to be so _handsome_.”

His chest tightened as she tilted her head, eyelashes fluttering as her eyes traced him up and down. _‘She is being_ paid _to do this,’_ he reminded himself, _‘it isn’t real,’_ but that fact was hard to remember with her breath tickling his cheek and her fingers ghosting over his hand. She smelled like cherries and honey and she was _really_ too close now if he wanted to keep his wits about him, but before his brain caught up to his body enough to react she was gone, up and across the room before he could blink.

“You’re really quiet,” she commented.

He coughed, feeling his face heating up as she rummaged around in the drawer of a small end table in the corner. “I’m… sorry,” he said haltingly. “I — did not expect to be here.”

She glanced back at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“This was… not my idea,” he confessed awkwardly.

She paused, turning back to him with her hands clasped behind her. “No wonder you seem nervous,” she said, and cocked her head. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder, gems glinting in the ambient lighting. He swallowed.

“I am sorry,” he said again weakly.

“Oh, no, don’t be _sorry_!” she said. “It’s really cute, actually.” It was absolutely the wrong thing to say if she was trying to ease the tension in his gut, but she didn’t seem to notice. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” She smiled again, in that coy, wicked manner that set his nerves alight. His mouth went dry as she came slowly towards him, slipping the dressing gown from her shoulders. It pooled around her feet and she paused briefly in front of him, tail swishing slightly. Caleb now saw she held a length of thick silken ribbon, which she wrapped once around each hand before slipping it around the back of his neck. She yanked him forward as she leaned in close, nearly nose to nose. “There are _other_ _things_ we could do instead,” she purred.

He wanted to scoot back, leave _now_ , knew he _should_ ; she was far too dangerous and far too sublime and he really, _really_ shouldn’t be here with her so excruciatingly, tantalizingly close — but she was much stronger than she looked and he was helpless as she began dancing again, twisting languidly, and thinking became impossible as she nudged his knees apart, moving torturously between his legs.

She took her time, teasing, tormenting, never quite touching, but inching closer and closer with every shimmy of her hips, every turn of her body. It was getting harder to breathe now, and it was hot in here, so unbearably, terribly _hot_ — damn Mollymauk, damn Beauregard and Fjord and _damn Mollymauk to hell_ for putting him here, for locking him in this room with this woman, and —

She lifted herself smoothly onto the couch with one knee on either side of his lap, not quite straddling him, but not quite _not_. And then she was moving again to the faint music of the club below, body curving, hips rolling, agonizing and seductive and never _quite_ crossing the line into something _more_. His heart thundered in his chest as he sat there, paralyzed, as her thighs pressed against him, fists clenching and unclenching unconsciously on the couch cushions beneath them as he watched her — he was well aware he was staring, well aware of the lecherous way his eyes roved her body, desperately trying to capture every part of her at once, commit her to memory — but he was unable to look away. She released the ribbon then, fingers tracing slowly down his arms, taking him by the wrists as she placed his hands gently on either side of her corseted waist. “You can touch me, you know,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. He could feel her smiling. “If you like.”

She was warm from dancing, his hands fitting perfectly into the curves of her, and she smiled again as his fingers tightened reflexively around her. A hand trailed back up his arm, tracing up his neck, running lightly through his hair. She put her lips close his ear again as she leaned forward, her voice a breathless whisper, “I like it when you touch me.”

It would be so _easy_ to buy into the fiction she was presenting, to allow himself to run his hands over her and lose himself in the idea that she cared about him at all. That the way she was making him feel was in any way reciprocated, that she would even look at him twice if Molly hadn’t pulled some strings; that, if only for one night, or one hour, or even a single _minute_ , she wanted him. And she was so good at pretending — the swell of her chest pressed against him, her hips moving beneath his hands, her fingers in his hair — that he almost did, almost let that little groaning sound caught in his throat to escape him as she breathed hotly in his ear, but —

He ached to touch her, touch her properly, feel her skin on his — to run his hands up her thighs, to bury his face in her neck as she said his name, again and again...

It was too dangerous, too _much_ , too —

He let go of her then — with one hand, he wasn’t strong enough to pull away from her yet, not entirely, he was too selfish for that, even now — fumbling through his pockets. _‘Where is it, where did I put it, where_ — _?’_

She slowed her movements, pulling away slightly to look down at him with those huge, gorgeous eyes. “What’s wrong?” she said. “What are you—?”

He didn’t answer her, too focused on the singular task of pulling out his wallet, and somehow managed to wrench his other hand from her waist to rifle through it.

She let go of him then, her eyes widening slightly, her plump mouth a small ‘O’ of surprise and — what was that? Anxiety? “Is that — Are you—?” She swallowed, and her confidence seemed to be melting slightly, and suddenly she seemed much younger now. “I don’t — th-that’s not really what I thought — Molly didn’t say anything about a- _actually_ —”

He brandished his prize in her face. “Cat!” he barked.

She blinked down at the picture in his hand, that small spark of unease turning to confusion. “…Cat?” she said.

“My cat,” he croaked. “His name is Frumpkin.”

She looked at him, gaze traveling from his face to the image of Frumpkin and slowly back again. “I don’t…”

“He can change shapes sometimes, but he prefers to be a cat mostly,” he babbled. “He likes to be scratched behind the ears when I read.”

She was looking at him like he’d grown an extra head, utterly bewildered at this sudden change in subject. He was well aware he must appear deranged — who in their right mind would start talking about their _cat_ in the middle of a _lapdance_ with _her_? — but he couldn’t keep going like that, couldn’t let her continue, not if he wanted to keep his head on straight —

There was a sudden clattering, and both their heads snapped to the door as it opened.

A firbolg stood there, towering and grey, with long, violently pink hair, carrying a mop. “Oh,” he said, looking bemused but not at all embarrassed at the sight of Jester straddling him. “Hello.”

“Caduceus!” said Jester, scrambling off Caleb’s lap to the cushion beside him. She was blushing now, the same lavender-pink as her tongue, her arms wrapped protectively across her chest. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, they didn’t tell me the room was being used.” Caduceus scratched his head with the mop handle, pink eyes taking in the scene before him — Jester, half-naked and flushed; Caleb, frozen in place, still holding the picture of Frumpkin aloft.

“Well, it _is_ , and we’re kind of, um, _busy_ , so if you could, like, come back later—?”

“My mistake, I’ll leave you to it.” He smiled pleasantly, nodded at Caleb. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “You two have fun.” The door clicked shut behind him.

They sat in silence for a long time, Caleb still stuck in place, although he’d finally managed to lower his arm. He could feel Jester glancing furtively at him, her arms still wrapped around herself. She seemed different now, as though a spell had been broken — still gorgeous, heart-stoppingly so, but… uncertain. Young. Innocent. He was suddenly, painfully aware of how much older he must be than her, and how close he’d been to allowing himself to get lost in the fantasy. How close he’d been to doing something he’d regret.

He stuffed the picture back in his wallet, for once not caring if it creased or crumpled, and stood abruptly. “I should go,” he said.

She blinked. “O-oh,” she said.

“Yes, I should — hmm.” He wanted to say something — thank her? Gods no, how pathetic would that be? “I should go,” he said again.

She looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher, almost seeming to deflate a little. “Oh. Okay…”

In two quick strides he was at the door, but hesitated with his fingers on the handle. He could go back and salvage this — she was so close, so beautiful, so… He shook himself. No. He wouldn’t do that to her.

He left without saying anything else.

Molly nudged Beau and Fjord in the ribs as Caleb stumbled back to the bar, disheveled and heart-sick and probably covered in glitter. “He returns!” crowed Molly triumphantly, clapping him on the shoulder as he came close and collapsed on a stool. “Veth, we’re gonna need some shots over here. Now, tell us _everything_.” He plucked slyly at the ribbon still draped around his neck.

Nott slid Caleb a shot of something and he downed it without bothering to try to identify it. She slid him two more and he downed those too, savoring the burn as they hit his throat. His palms were sweating again. He nearly slopped the fourth shot all over himself, his hands were shaking so much with latent adrenaline, but tossed it back anyway.

They were watching him. Beau grabbed his wrist as he reached for the fifth shot, smile slipping slightly. “Dude, slow down,” she said, her brows knitting together in mild concern. “You’re gonna throw up.”

“I knew she was good, but I didn’t know she was _that_ good,” joked Molly. He swiped at Caleb’s face, finger coming away blue from a smudge of lipstick he hadn’t realized was there. “This is a good color on you.”

Caleb shook his hand out of Beau’s grasp and downed the final shot. When he rose from the barstool his head swam, but he was surprisingly steady on his feet as he took Molly’s face gingerly in his hands, leaning in close. “Mollymauk?” he said, only slurring a little.

Molly was grinning. “Yes, Caleb?”

He patted his cheek. “Fuck you,” he said, and left.

“Oh, come on!” yelled Molly as he walked away. “We all saw you looking at her, I was doing you a favor! You deserve to have some fun every once in a while!” But Caleb didn’t look back.

It wasn’t until he got home, collapsing on his dilapidated couch with Frumpkin flopping over in his lap, that he realized his colossal mistake.

He’d put the picture back in his wallet, but never put the wallet back in his pocket.

He groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes, but not seeing didn’t change the facts.

He’d left it at the Lavish Chateau. In the VIP room.

With Jester.

He’d have to go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THROW ME IN THE SIN BIN!! JUST TAKE ME AWAY BOYS!!!!
> 
> will the rating go up in the future? should it? will i throw myself into traffic if anyone even remotely connected to the cast happens to stumble across this? tune in next time to find out!
> 
> posted to tumblr [here.](https://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com/post/184422113298/welcome-to-burlesque-ch2/)
> 
>  
> 
> [main.](http:/ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/)  
> [writing blog.](http://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com/)  
> [art blog.](http://bloodandpurpleink.tumblr.com/)


	3. Call Me Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by [Carly Rae Jepsen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWNaR-rxAic)

It was a week before Jester saw him again.

A whole week spent clinging to the tattered and worn folded leather that contained the life story of Caleb Widogast. That was his full name, of course — it said so on his faded ID. And he was thirty-three years old, and carried exactly eleven Imperial crowns in cash alongside a whopping twenty-seven pictures of his cat. He’d left so suddenly that night, by the time she’d realized what had happened, he’d already left the Chateau.

Molly refused to return it for her, and when she’d asked for a number so she could at least let Caleb know his valuables were safe, he’d given her a disappointed look. “You _could_ call him,” he’d said. “Or you could just let _him_ come to _you_. The thrill of the chase, and all that.”

“But what if he needs it, like, _really_ badly?” she’d protested. “And he doesn’t know where he left it, like, what if he thinks it fell out on the bus or something, and he doesn’t even remember leaving it here? He was _pretty_ drunk.”

Molly shook his head. “Not when he was with you,” he said, which puzzled her, but he just patted her arm affectionately. “Don’t worry, he’s a smart man. He’ll come crawling back in no time. It’ll be good for him, really.”

But “no time” turned into “several days,” and Jester had begun to worry. So she’d begun to pick through his wallet.

She’d felt kind of bad about it at first. The Traveler, of course, had thought it was a marvelous idea, but it still felt weird to rummage through the pieces of a stranger’s life. She finally had to convince herself that it really was out of concern for _him_ that she was doing it. Maybe there was a phone number in there, she reasoned, or contact information of some kind — if not his, then perhaps of someone more willing to help than Molly was.

You could tell a lot about someone by the contents of their wallet. She knew that from experience. Not just technical information, but _stories_. Personalities. Little stuff that added up to a larger whole, like whether they collected movie tickets, if they saved their receipts when they went on a drunken run to the corner store at 2 AM on a Saturday night. Clean wallets belonged to boring people.

Caleb Widogast, by this metric, was not a boring person.

That didn’t mean she learned much, though. If anything, he was just _odd_. He didn’t have a driver’s license, or a bus pass; only the ID on the back of his bank card, which was three months away from expiring. There was the crumpled money, and the absurd amount of cat pictures, but not much else. Unless you counted the dozen or so scraps of crumpled paper shoved in various pockets in between the cats. There were scribbles on them — some of them contained notes written in various languages she couldn’t understand, others showed sigils; some scratched out, some circled or underlined and accompanied by more hastily written notes. She couldn’t make heads or tails of most of them, but they seemed vaguely arcane in nature; a wizard, maybe?

_That_ would certainly make him interesting, she supposed. She’d never met a real wizard before.

She couldn’t understand what kind of person carried around twenty-seven pictures of their cat. The wallet was practically full to bursting with them. To be fair, it _was_ a very nice cat — he’d called him Frumpkin, hadn’t he? That was a good cat name, she thought — but _twenty-seven_? Carried with him _everywhere_? That was a little excessive.

Although, to be perfectly honest, she’d probably be the same way if she’d been allowed a pet, constantly surrounding herself with reminders of them if they were ever apart. A dog would be fun, maybe, or perhaps a weasel — something slinky and small she could carry around her shoulders like a scarf, and she’d feed him doughnuts and bugs she found in the garden.

She found the picture he’d shown her in the VIP room, and smoothed out the crease in the corner from when he’d stuffed it carelessly back in place that night. He’d acted so _strangely_  that night, Molly must have been wrong — he must have been drunk, or high, or some combination of the two — musn’t he? He hadn’t directly looked at her again after Caduceus… interrupted them. And then he’d left with his wallet lying forgotten on the couch beside her.

Her face burned when she thought about it.

She’d noticed him, on stage, if only for being unusual. Everyone in the club generally crowded around as close as they could get when she performed, except for Nott, of course — what could she say? She was a _very_ good dancer — all except for him. Even with the lights in her eyes she could see him, leaning against the bar, watching. Not cheering or hooting or whistling at her, just… _watching_. So she’d winked, just to see what he would do.

Even in the shadows she could tell how his complexion darkened at that, and with his expression being so stony until then, it was nice to know that he didn’t _entirely_ hate her dancing. There were creeps sometimes, people that came in just to glare, or to shout obscenities about sinful dens of iniquity. Which was stupid, because you had to pay at the door to get in and they weren’t really accomplishing anything but annoying the bouncers that dragged them out. But at least he didn’t seem to be one of them.

Molly had come up to her after her performance, backstage, accompanied by a human woman and a handsome, blushing half-orc. “Wonderful, as always,” he said, introducing his friends as Beau and Fjord.

She’d beamed as she fixed her makeup, honey finally cleaned up. “Thank you!” she said. “It’s a new routine I’ve been working on, I’m glad you liked it.”

“Of _course_ I did. But listen, I’ve got a favor to ask. You see, I have this friend…”

She glanced between his companions; at Fjord, still quite red, and Beau, who looked gleeful. “Which one?”

Molly waved a hand. “Oh, he’s not here,” he said airily. “His name’s Caleb. He’s a bit shy, you see. But he enjoyed your dancing _so_ much that we, well—” And here he grinned, a little wickedly, “—we were wondering if you’d be open to a more, ah, _private_ performance. You still do those, yes?”

She hummed thoughtfully, pausing mid-swipe of her lipstick. “Not very much,” she said slowly. “But…”

“But…?”

“ _But_ …” She finished reapplying her lipstick, admiring the effect in the mirror and glancing back him with a smirk. “Since you asked so nicely and everything.”

His eyes glinted. “ _Excellent_. The usual rate, I assume?”

Her tail flicked up and booped him on the nose. “Only because I like you.”

“And the usual room?”

“Of course. But give me a few minutes, okay? I need to get ready.”

“You’re _divine._ ” He pressed a quick kiss to her temple, and she could feel the curl of his lips as his grin widened. “Just so you know, he might seem a little nervous at first,” he said. “But just… give him _everything_ you’ve got, alright? Hit him _hard_. He’ll love it.”

It seemed like an odd specification, but she’d simply shrugged and nodded. Men were strange sometimes. _Especially_ the kinds of men who paid for private encounters — she wondered what sort of man he was if Molly had to make the request on his behalf instead.

The VIP room she waited in was one of the smaller ones, but it was her favorite — all ambient lighting and soft drapery and the _plushest_ couch dominating the room — and she adjusted her stockings a little nervously. It wasn’t her first… solo endeavor, exactly, but it _had_ been a while. She preferred the stage. The crowds, the people, the _life_. She wasn’t like her mother in that regard, who lately _only_ took on private clients.

She hoped this one would be nice.

There were sudden raised voices in the hallway, a thudding noise, and she glanced up as the man — human, long-limbed, vaguely familiar — practically fell into the room and spun around as the door swung shut behind him, and she heard laughter. _‘Showtime.’_ She put on her best smile and straightened. “You must be Caleb! I’ve been expecting you.”

It was the man from the bar, she noticed with surprise; the one who’d been staring. Awkward and fumbling and now too shy to look her in the eye. He was nearly a head taller than her, maybe more — though, to be fair, most people were — and fairly lean, with a mess of auburn hair only a few inches shorter than her own. A thick 5 o'clock shadow darkened his cheeks, beneath which she could make out the slight dimple in his chin. His clothes were simple, with the worn, disheveled appearance of someone either wholly unconcerned or fanatically obsessed with current fashion trends. She didn’t recognize his accent, but his voice when he spoke, despite some nervous stuttering, was kind of deep in a pleasant sort of way. And his eyes, when he finally met her gaze, were like the sky in summertime.

She wasn’t lying later when she called him handsome.

He didn’t appear to believe her entirely, but she found herself not quite so nervous about dancing for him anymore. In fact, the beet red color his face went when she wrapped the ribbon around his neck made the whole experience that much more enjoyable. She liked the feeling of being in control of such encounters. And, despite the initial awkwardness, he _really_ didn’t seem to mind it either.

So when she put his twitching hands on her waist, she didn’t expect him to _change_ the way he did.

When he first stumbled through her door, a part of her had been worried: that he wouldn’t like her, that he’d like her _too much_ ; that she’d do something embarrassing, like trip on her dressing gown. She didn’t anticipate the heat radiating off his body, or the strength of his hands, or the way his roving gaze went from worshiping to _hungry_. Like he wanted to eat her alive.

She didn’t anticipate the thrill in her stomach as she realized she might not entirely have minded him trying.

His fingers dug slightly into her hips, moving with her as she pressed her body to him, constantly, artfully edging that line between a dance and something _else_. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin, the heat of his hands on her waist, the heat of his legs between her thighs. Were all humans this _hot_ , literally, or was it just him?

Suddenly his hands weren’t on her anymore, and he was looking for something — frantically, _desperately_ — and suddenly her mouth was going dry and a leaden lump dropped to the pit of her stomach of _something_ that sent ice up her spine, the heat of him forgotten.

What would he need his _wallet_ for? Molly had paid already, and there weren’t very many other things people kept in wallets he could _possibly_ need in a situation like this… Surely he couldn’t be looking for a—?

“ _Cat_!” he barked at her.

Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that had certainly not been one of them. And then Caduceus had come in — he really had the _worst_ timing, honestly — and any hopes she had of possibly obtaining an explanation for this abrupt and frankly bizarre display went right out the door with him. And Molly was no help, of course, only smiling cryptically when she casually tried to interrogate him throughout the week about his friend.

“Why don’t you ask _him_?” he kept saying.

But she _couldn’t_ ask him, not without his number, unless he showed up randomly one day and she happened to be present at the time. Which seemed less and less likely as time stretched on.

So all she had was that stupid wallet and her thoughts, which were, at best, circular in nature.

What kind of man interrupted a private lapdance with twenty-seven pictures of his _cat_?

She went through the wallet again and again, agonizing over the fragments of a life she didn’t understand. She knew she shouldn’t, probably, certainly not more than once, and if he ever found out, he’d… Well, she didn’t know him well enough to know _what_ he’d do. That was sort of the problem.

The day she finally saw him again she was sitting at the bar with her head on her hand, absently drinking a glass of milk as Nott inventoried the bar, ruminating on the Wallet Problem. It had been nearly seven whole days now, more than enough time for him to have come back on his own. If he didn’t come by tomorrow, she decided, she’d _make_ Molly bring it to him. Seven days was an awfully long time, after all. And those pictures were _really_ cute. It would be a shame to be without them, even if he did have the real cat at home. Wherever his home was.

There was a shuffling noise behind her, and she glanced over to see Yasha coming over from the coat check area, brow furrowed. “There’s a man at the door,” she said. “He wants to come in.”

“Well, tell him to fuck off,” said Nott, not looking up from her clipboard. “We’re closed.”

“He’s very insistent,” said Yasha. “He says he left something here the other night.”

Jester perked up, hardly believing her luck. “Is he human?” she asked.

Yasha shrugged. “Looks that way. I think so.”

“Red hair? Blue eyes? Really skinny, kinda nervous?”

“Yes.” She cocked her head. “Why, do you know him?”

Jester clapped her hands excitedly. “Let him in! That’s the guy I was telling you about! Oh my gosh, he actually _came_.”

“Is he the one with the cat?” said Nott as Yasha vanished again.

“Yes, and it’s _such_ a cute cat too — _Caleb_!” She bounded off the stool, milk forgotten as he followed Yasha through the archway from coat check, looking a little windswept in the long coat he wore despite the warm weather outside. “Took you long enough,” she chided. “I was getting worried, you know.”

He froze in place when he saw her beelining for him, his cheeks going faintly red. “Ah, J-Jester,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Hello.”

“Hi!” She skidded to a stop in front of him, bouncing on the balls of her bare feet. “You’re here for your wallet, yes?”

“I — _ja_ , yes, I am.” He coughed awkwardly.

Nott glanced up from her list. “Oh,” she said. “I remember you. Molly’s friend, right? Dwarven ale.”

“Ah, yes, that was me.”

“You want another one? Since you’re here and all.”

He shoved his hands in ratty coat pockets. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I’m just here for my—”

“Oh, of _course_ , your wallet.” Jester tugged on his sleeve, a little harder than she meant to, his hand slipping back out of the pocket with a little jerk. “Follow me. You don’t mind stairs, do you?”

“Where are we going?” he said uncertainly as she dragged him across the dancefloor to the wide, sweeping staircase.

“To get your wallet, _silly_.”

“I see.” He cleared his throat again as she let go of him, when it seemed he’d follow her of his own volition. “I didn’t, ah, expect you to be here so early in the day.”

She glanced at him, cocking an eyebrow. “Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know, where does one go when not at work?” He shrugged. “Home, I suppose.”

She giggled. “I _am_ home. I live here.”

“You — what, _here_?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“Well, _yeah_. It’s my Mama’s club. We both live here.” It was her turn to shrug as they came to the first landing on the stairs. “Lots of people do. The whole top two floors are apartments, you know. Didn’t Molly tell you?”

“He did not.”

She hummed thoughtfully as they came to the VIP area, passing the many doors with the spidery writing. “I guess he wouldn’t,” she conceded. “He’s _really_ unhelpful sometimes. I tried to get him to take the wallet back to you all week, you know.”

“Oh, _really_ ,” he said, in a way that _definitely_ wasn’t a question.

“ _Really_ ,” said Jester. “I was like, _‘But what if he needs it, and he gets really sad because he lost all those cute pictures of his cat,’_ but he wouldn’t even give me your number to let you know it was safe.”

“That bastard,” commented Caleb, and then, “Wait, what do you mean, ‘all those pictures’? I only showed you one.”

She felt her ears heat up a little. “Well,” she said carefully, “I thought if I looked through it, like _super_ -quickly, I might find some way to contact you on my own or something. But I was _really_ careful,” she added hurriedly. “I put everything right back where it was, I promise!”

“I see.”

He didn’t sound angry, at least, just a little… resigned. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Are you a wizard?” she asked.

He paused in place, and she got a few steps ahead of him before she realized he wasn’t beside her anymore. “What makes you say that?” he asked, a little guardedly.

She turned to look at him. “Those little notes,” she said. “With all the scribbles on them. They looked arcane to me, anyway. Aren’t they?”

“Some of them are,” he said, and squinted at her. “You have magic?”

She shrugged. “A little,” she said. “Not that kind, though. Mostly just healing stuff. I don’t know why, Mama doesn’t have magic. But sometimes people get hurt on the poles, or twist their ankles and stuff. I wanted to help, so I just… _did_.”

He was looking at her differently now; not quite nervously anymore, more like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve. “You have a god, I presume? And you got your healing after you found them?”

“Yes.” She grinned. “I’ll tell you about him sometime, he’s _really_ cool. Why do you ask?”

He was quiet for a moment. “They used to call people like you clerics,” he said. “A bit of an old-fashioned term now, I suppose.”

“ _Cleric_.” She tested the word on her tongue. _‘I’m a_ cleric _,’_ she thought, and grinned. “Cool! How’d you know that?”

He shrugged. “I read things,” he said. “And yes, I have been called a wizard before.”

“Really? That’s so cool! What kinds of spells do you know?”

He shrugged again. “Oh, you know,” he said vaguely. “A bit of this and that.”

“I can’t really show you any of _my_ spells right now,” she continued conversationally, when it became clear he wasn’t going to elaborate, “unless you wanna, like, cut your hand or fall down the stairs or something I guess. _Oh_! But I can do _this_!” She snapped her fingers and with a resounding _crash_ all the doors around them slammed open.

He lurched sideways as the door nearest to them — the one belonging to the room they’d met in, incidentally — crashed into the wall and bounced off, narrowly missing him on the way. “Interesting use of Thaumaturgy,” he said when he’d recovered, and she noted with a tiny thrill in the pit of her stomach that he sounded vaguely impressed. He squinted a little at the spidery writing on the door as it drifted past his face. “ _‘Wild Mount,’_ ” he read aloud, and the shadow of something that could almost be mistaken for a smile flitted briefly across his face. “Funny.”

She beamed. “You like it?” she said.

“Amusing pun,” he said. “Very fitting.”

“I came up with that one,” she said in a confidential tone.

He quirked an eyebrow. “I see.”

“I came up with all of them, actually.” She bounced a little on her heels. “They aren’t _all_ as good, I was really little, but that one’s my favorite.” She snapped her fingers again and the doors slammed shut, making Caleb jump again as she smiled sweetly at him. “Come on, we’re almost halfway there.”

He followed her wordlessly up the next flight of stairs. “How many people live here?” he asked eventually.

“Let’s see…” She counted quietly on her fingers. “There’s me and Mama, of course… Caduceus, you’ve met him, he’s sort of the caretaker — then there’s Blude, he’s my bodyguard, but only sometimes, and—”

“You have a bodyguard?”

She looked at him quizzically. “Well, _yeah_ ,” she said. “I’m the _Little Sapphire._ ” She dipped into a small curtsy, which was kind of hard to do in denim shorts, she realized. “My mom’s the _Ruby of the Sea_ , silly, of _course_ I have a bodyguard. But only sometimes,” she added. That was an important clarification.

“I see.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “Yasha stays here sometimes, but she doesn’t really work here full time so she kinda comes and goes. Molly too, but he stays with Yasha. Nott and her family have an apartment. And there used to be some other guy, the accountant, but he was stealing so Mama had him arrested and he doesn’t live here anymore.” She snorted. “ _Obviously_.”

“Your accountant was stealing?” He sounded surprised.

She shrugged. “At least, I _think_ he was the accountant,” she said. “I’m not really sure what he did, exactly, he was really sleazy and we didn’t talk much. Anyway, Mama tried to pay the caterer for an event a few months ago and the check bounced, and so she looked at the books and they didn’t add up or something.” She shrugged again. “Neither of us are very good with numbers, but he was _really_ bad at hiding it, I guess. We got some of the money back, but Mama’s still trying to figure out how much he took.” She paused. “It was a _lot_ of money,” she reflected.

Caleb was silent for a long time. When she glanced at him, he wore an unreadable expression.

“I’m good with numbers,” he said finally.

“Yeah?” She grinned at him. “You wizards are really smart, huh?”

He coughed a little embarrassedly. “I could take a look,” he said awkwardly, “is what I meant. If you and your mother needed help sometime.”

She brightened. “Really?”

He hunched a little, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “I have a bit of spare time,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind. Molly can vouch for me, if you need.”

“Why, _Cay-leb_ ,” she said delightedly, drawing his name out longer than she needed to, “are you asking for a _job_?”

He reddened instantly, that adorable human blush. “That’s not what I—”

“You _are_ ,” she said, stopping dead in her tracks halfway down the hall. Her tail swished madly behind her. “You _are_ , that’s why you’re so _red_!”

“I am not looking for a _job_ ,” he insisted, glaring at the floor. He was starting to look a bit panicked. “I _have_ a job, I just thought—”

“Oh, _relax_ ,” she giggled, patting his arm reassuringly, “I’m only _teasing_. What sort of job do you do, then?”

“I work in a library,” he mumbled.

Somehow this didn’t surprise her. And he looked so miserable now, she felt bad for making him uncomfortable. “That’s really sweet of you, Caleb,” she said, more gently this time. “ _Really_. You know, you should talk to my Mama, I know she’d love to meet you.” She bit her lip when he didn’t respond immediately. “I think — I think she’s having a hard time, you know, with all the money and trying to balance the books again and stuff. If you really meant it, I think she’d love the help.”

“I did.”

She smiled. “Then I’ll talk to her,” she said. “Tonight! She’s busy right now, but I could talk to her and maybe she’d have time to see you later this week or something.” She eyed him slyly. “Of course,” she added, turning coy, “that would mean you’d have to give me your number. You know, so I could call you with the time.” She walked two fingers lightly up his arm. “Or something,” she said, and let the suggestion hang in the air.

He didn’t look _quite_ so miserable now. He was still red-faced, but she couldn’t tell if that was residual or a fresh wave from her transparent flirtation. Either way, he nodded mutely and she counted that as a victory.

“Cool,” she said, and tugged on his arm again. “Come on, it’s just up here.”

She led him down the rest of the long hallway, there on the fourth floor, and bumped the door open with her hip. “Well, here we are,” she said, suddenly feeling a little shy. “Home, sweet home.”

He trailed behind her as she wove her way through the clutter of her apartment, through the spacious living room and through the archway leading to her bedroom. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed him taking in the walls, the vaulted ceilings, nearly every inch of them covered in paintings and sketches and doodles, an explosion of color and life and her own personal brand of magic. “Did you… make these?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to the space around them.

“Yeah,” she said. It was odd, having a stranger come into her most private space like this, seeing the closest approximation of the inside of her mind as a person possibly could. Well, at this point Caleb wasn’t really a _stranger_ , exactly, more of a casual acquaintance, but he was still a _man_. A strange man, standing among her jewelry and dancing costumes and furniture. She surreptitiously kicked a lacy thong under the bed.

Not surreptitiously enough, apparently, as his eyes flicked over to her, to the soft bed beside her, with its lacy canopy and rumpled sheets and wide, yawning space _much_ too big for just one person. Then his eyes roamed further, coming to rest on a frilly, strapless bra draped over her bedside lamp, and his cheeks went a little pink as he quickly looked away.

She snatched it, feeling her own face heat up as she kicked it under the bed too. “It’s just a _bra_ , Caleb,” she said, hoping her voice sounded lighter and more nonchalant to his ears than it did to her own.

“Right,” he said. “Just a bra.”

“They’re for my _boobs_ ,” she said. “You know what _boobs_ are, yes?”

He cleared his throat. “I am… familiar,” he said carefully. He looked almost more uncomfortable than she felt, and something in her _twisted_ a little.

There were… _options_ here. _Fun_ ones.  “ _Are_ you now,” she said, which wasn’t really a question.

He swallowed slightly as she moved slowly towards him, hands clasped behind her back in an imitation of _that night_. “It may be hard to fathom,” he said in a surprisingly level voice, “but I have, in fact, come across a fair number of them in my life.”

“Really?” she said, inching ever closer. “You could have fooled me.”

He _must_ know she was baiting him, and yet he took it anyway. “Could I?”

“You _could_ ,” she agreed, “because I was wearing that bra the other night. When you left.”

His eyes, already a bright blue, somehow seemed even brighter the closer she got. He wasn’t very red anymore. “Under that corset?” he said. “I doubt it.”

She hummed, now _very_ close. “Maybe,” she said, “maybe not. Maybe you would have found out if you’d stayed.”

She could feel the heat from his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt as she trailed a light finger up the line of buttons at the V of his collar. “I _very_ much doubt that,” he said.

Jester hummed again. “Shame,” she said. “We could have had a lot of fun.”

“Hmm,” he said.

Her finger was very nearly at his neck now, and she paused there, considering. “You took my ribbon,” she accused.

“So I did,” he murmured. “Would you like it back?”

“Maybe.”

She flicked her eyes up to find him looking at her, and something in her _swooped_ at the intensity of his gaze. “Jester,” he said in a low voice, and somehow the way he said her name sent a shiver up her spine, “do you _actually_ have my wallet up here?”

She smirked. “Of course I do,” she said innocently. “Why else would I have brought you up to my _bedroom_?”

With a gentle tap of his nose and a swish of her hips she spun on her heel and made her way to her vanity, where the wallet lay innocently among the perfume bottles and discarded makeup brushes. She heard him let out a soft, sudden exhale as she left him, and found herself biting her lip at the sound. _She’d_ done that. _He’d_ done that, because of _her_ , and it wasn’t even because she was being paid to do it. There was something thrilling about flirting so brazenly in her own home, in her own _bedroom_ , with a man she’d… _Well_.

He wasn’t a weirdo _all_ the time, at least.

She brought it back to him, walking a little more quickly this time — because the moment was _over_ , she’d had her fun — but when his fingers brushed against her hand in the exchange her own fingers tingled at the contact. “Thank you,” he said, still in that low, accented voice that made her heart beat just a little bit faster in spite of herself.

“You’re welcome,” she said, even though her mouth was starting to go dry.

When he finally broke eye contact to put the wallet back in his pocket, she almost sighed, but caught herself just in time. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction — it was more fun that way.

“Well,” he said. “I should go.”

“Wait,” she said, catching his sleeve as he turned to leave. He raised an eyebrow at her and she dug in her back pocket for her phone, which she held out to him. “Your number,” she reminded him. “You know, for _later_.”

He took it after a moment, and with a few quick taps on the screen handed it back. “There you go,” he said, and the corner of his mouth twitched up properly for the first time since she’d known him. Oh. _Oh_. “For later,” he said.

Oh, that was _not_ fair. “You know, I’m actually kind of glad Molly didn’t take your wallet back,” she said, trying desperately to regain the upper hand. But, you know. _Casually_. Because this was _fine_.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, because that meant you had to come back yourself.” She fluttered her eyelashes just a bit and bit back a small grin of triumph as she saw his pupils dilate, if only for a moment. “It was really nice seeing you again, Caleb,” she said softly.

She was winning — she didn’t know, exactly, when it had become a contest, but that didn’t matter because she was _winning_ —

And then she wasn’t anymore, because he was smirking again, and — oh, that _really_ wasn’t fair — through the sunlight streaming through her bedroom window his hair wasn’t just auburn, it was copper and gold and a hint of something deeper, and his eyes were ice and the sea and a cloudless summer sky, and the light was casting just enough shadow to highlight the sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his high cheekbones as he gave a short, polite, yet impish bow. “The pleasure was all mine, Miss Lavorre,” he said, and his eyes never left her for a second. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

And just like that, he had won. He’d beat her, because she was still standing there when he turned tail and left, that world-weary coat that smelled of campfires and old leather swishing gently in his wake, the door clicking softly as he closed it behind him. She didn’t know how long she stood there, heart hammering, an odd buzzing in her ears. When she finally collapsed backwards into bed, sinking deeply into the mattress, she pulled the nearest pillow over her face and _squealed_.

He’d flirted with her. He’d really, _really_ flirted with her, when she wasn’t even working, when it was just the two of them in her messy little bedroom; and she was the _best_ at flirting, she got _paid_ to be the best at flirting, and he was still so good at it that he’d won.

He was a wizard, he carried twenty-seven pictures of his cat in his wallet, and he flirted with her so good that he’d _won_.

It took her at least five minutes to calm herself enough to go back downstairs, and when she did Nott looked up from polishing glasses. “You were up there for _ages_ ,” she said. “What happened? Did you fuck him or something? He looked pretty frazzled on the way out.”

_‘Aha,’_ she thought. Maybe it had been more of a tie after all. “No, Nott, I didn’t _fuck_ him,” she said, feeling her ears heat up as she slid back into her seat at the bar. Her glass of milk, now gently sweating, wasn’t quite as cold anymore, but still tasted good. She downed it and grinned sheepishly. “But… I _might_ have accidentally maybe sort of offered him a job, maybe. I think.”

“Jester, what the _fuck_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this au is rapidly spiraling out of my control and i can't even be mad about it. ~~_it's only chapter 3 tho_~~ it's fine. this is Fine.
> 
> in other news, the widojest discord server is literally the coolest place ok. i joined on thursday just before the stream and it's just been a ride and a half ever since. shoutout to them for helping me with the chapter title, giving me a stockpile of songs to add to the potential list of future ones, and generally being just a swell gang. you like widojest? [join us.](https://discord.gg/uHdBKGf) be there or be square.
> 
> also!! my [(Secretly WidoJest) fanart](https://bloodandpurpleink.tumblr.com/post/184291050559/i-dont-know-what-dicks-look-like-dont-me) made the cr reel this week!! and liam was the first like on twitter!! and he dm'ed me for my name for the credits!!!! so it's safe to say i've died like 3 separate times this week _it's **fine**_
> 
> posted on tumblr and it fuckin. deleted the post so i'll stick another link here when i feel like going through that bullshit again.
> 
> EDIT: finally up on [tumblr.](https://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com/post/184572214473/welcome-to-burlesque-ch3) again. let's see how long it lasts this time.  
>  
> 
> [main.](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com)  
> [writing blog.](http://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com)  
> [art blog.](http://bloodandpurpleink.tumblr.com)


	4. Stacy's Mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by [Fountains of Wayne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZLfasMPOU4)

Caleb got about five steps down the hallway before his legs gave out and he fell heavily against the nearest wall, hands on his trembling knees, gripping them like anchors as he breathed deeply in shuddering bursts.

What the _fuck_ had gotten into him?

He hadn’t expected to see her at all today — had stayed away a full _week_ because of the possibility he _might_ ; came during the day, long before the club opened, _specifically_ to lower his chances of doing so — but she _lived_ here? He was going to _kill_ Mollymauk.

It was he who’d suggested going back, after all. Who’d slyly insinuated it was _fine,_ really, Jester might have handed the thing off to Nott, or the bouncer at the door, or _literally anyone else_ — not that _she’d_ personally hang on to it. In her _bedroom_. He hadn’t fucking mentioned she had one of _those_ here.

And she’d been excited to see him — genuinely _excited_ ; like she _wanted_ him to come back, like she _wanted_ to see him.

And he’d been thrown, of course — by her bubbly personality, by her bare feet and loose top tucked into shorts too short, by her dimples and freckles and that plump little mouth going a mile a minute as she chattered all the way to her apartment… By her vibrant, chaotic bedroom, with its scattered clutter and that wide, soft bed, where she’d slunk forward with hooded eyes and hinted at things that could have been.

But none of that gave him the right to play along the way he did. _Encourage_ her.

 _Win_.

Not that it had been a contest, of course. But somewhere along the way he’d picked up that she was _testing_ him in some way, baiting him, and something in him wouldn’t allow him to ignore the challenge. Because it _was_ a challenge — one slight blush at some frilly lingerie had somehow spiraled into a lazy finger trailing up his chest and murmured insinuations about her naked body.

He ran a shaking hand through his hair. _Scheisse_.

It had been a long time since he’d flirted with anyone like that. At all. And there was no use denying that was what he’d been doing, what _they’d_ been doing, regardless of the intent behind it on either side — might as well call a spade a spade. It had been a while since he’d _wanted_ to. And now he couldn’t help himself. A combined total of less than a day of knowing her, if he was being generous, and already he was thinking with the wrong head.

If it _had_ been a test, or a competition of some sort, the way her breath had stuttered and lips had parted as he left her speechless by her bed seemed to indicate he’d done rather well.

He wondered, not for the first time, what would have happened if he’d been strong — or weak — enough to turn back that night. If he’d stayed. If she’d been telling the truth.

He wondered what could have happened if he’d stayed _now_ …

He shook himself roughly and began his long trek downstairs, every step putting more and more distance between him and the closed door at the end of the hall. No, he couldn’t think about such things. She did this sort of thing for a living — not a judgment, merely statement of fact; making men like him weak in the knees was her business, after all, and he had to be _realistic_. He couldn’t allow himself the delusion that anything that had happened between them was anything more than what it was: an artist plying her trade. A very _skilled_ artist, plying a very specific trade.

So why did the thought fill his gut with a cold ache he couldn’t quite place?

A tiny voice piped up, sly and winking in the back of his mind: _‘Why do you want it to be real?’_

He _didn’t_. Of course he didn’t. She was beautiful, yes, and surprisingly sweet-natured, and excitable and bouncy and somehow genuinely pleased to see him — but he _didn’t_. He _couldn’t_. He wouldn’t let himself think about the way her lips curled when she said his name, of the cool touch of her finger through the cotton of his shirt, thin and simultaneously, agonizingly too _thick_ just then; of the way she tugged on his sleeve and the way a part of him almost wished she’d grabbed his hand instead so he could feel the touch of her skin on his.

She had magic. Divine magic, to be sure, but she’d recognized the sigils in his wallet, even if she didn’t know what they meant. And she’d seemed interested in them. In _him_. In his magic, in his cat, in his life.

She’d asked for his number and he’d just… _given_ it to her. He still didn’t quite know how he’d managed it as smoothly as he did, when the mere fact of it afterwards left him trembling. At some point _soon_ she would text him, or — gods forbid — _call_ him. His phone would ring, and her voice would be there, pressed against his cheek, murmuring in his ear… His face burned as he stumbled down another flight of stairs. He’d offered to help her mother with their books. Her _mother._ With their _books._ And she’d taken him up on it, or said she would.

If he’d been trying to extricate her from his life, get her out of his head, he was doing a piss-poor job of it.

But he was weak, and selfish, and she presented herself so tantalizingly, so _willingly_ , and he was so, so _selfish_. He wanted to see her again. Of course he did. He shouldn’t, but he _did_.

She seemed to want to, too.

No. Realistic, he had to be _realistic_. They barely knew each other, anyway. He’d offered her something she needed, and she’d accepted. That she had his number, that he’d be coming back, probably more than once, was incidental. And when it was all done, it wasn’t like he’d have any reason to return after that.

He tried to ignore that icy disappointment slithering up his spine.

Nott eyed him as he finally reached the bottom floor. “Are you sure you don’t want that drink?” she said. “You look a little—”

“ _Nein, danke_ ,” he muttered, waving a vague hand in her direction. “I should get going.”

“Well, alright,” she said. Her eyebrows were raised, like she was appraising him, but let him leave without further comment. The large woman at the door with the heterochromatic eyes gave him a tentative nod as he stumbled through the door, out into the sun and breeze and blessed, blessed fresh air. He filled his lungs in long, steady gulps, and his coat felt too _hot_ now.

He left it on, sweating, as he made his way home.

In his dingy studio apartment, he collapsed on the couch, draping an arm over his face to block out the light and _drifted_. He shouldn’t encourage this, shouldn’t let himself, but when his treacherous mind began replaying her performance in excruciating detail for the millionth time, he simply let it. Let her imaginary fingers trace dripping honey in delicate patterns over her shimmering chest, let her hot breath caress his skin as she later moved agonizingly between his legs.

_‘I was wearing that bra the other night. When you left.’_

He could almost feel her again, finger pausing at his collar _just_ before she touched skin.

_‘Maybe you would have found out if you’d stayed.’_

_Scheisse_.

At some point Frumpkin had jumped up to curl on his chest, and when Caleb shifted his arm enough to glance down, Frumpkin was looking at him reproachfully. “I know,” he told the cat miserably in Sylvan. “Believe me, I _know._ ”

Frumpkin didn’t seem convinced.

The day passed in a haze, as did the next one, but by the third he’d finally _almost_ managed to put her out of his mind, at least enough to concentrate on other things. Important things, like transcribing the old arcane manuscript he’d been tasked with for the library’s digital archive. He very nearly didn’t hear the phone when it rang, fifteen pages deep in the text as he was. He sandwiched it between an ear and a shoulder, only half paying attention as he did. These old wizards were _fascinating_.

“ _Ja_?” he said absently.

“Caleb?”

The phone slipped from his shoulder, and he had to juggle it ridiculously to save it from the floor. It was — she’d—

“Jester?” He swallowed hard, suddenly very hot and very cold at the same time. It was _her_. That was _her_ voice.

“Oh, good, it _is_ you. Hi!”

Her voice was bubbly and warm. He subconsciously pressed the phone a little closer to his ear. “Ah, hello.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I decided to call — I know some people don’t like to talk on the phone anymore. I thought about texting, but then I thought, you know, _‘Well, he doesn’t actually have_ my _number, so what if he doesn’t know it’s really me,’_ because, like, anyone could _say_ _‘Hey, it’s Jester,’_ in a text, but you wouldn’t really _know_.”

She spoke in a rush, and sounded like a summer breeze, light and airy and full of life. His chest tightened. “No, it’s fine, I don’t mind.” He swallowed. “I’m actually glad you called,” slipped out before he could stop it.

“Really?” She sounded delighted. “Good, because I talked to my mom, and this is _much_ faster than texting.”

“ _Ja_?” He leaned back in his chair. “What did she say?”

“She was a little nervous at first, but I’m _really_ good at convincing people and she said she has some time for you to stop by. Do you have time tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” So soon? His palms were sweating.

“Or today, I mean, it’s still pretty early. Unless you’re busy, of course,” she added hurriedly. “I’m not bothering you at work, am I? I’m sorry, I should have—”

“Jester, I — it’s fine, you’re not bothering me at all.” He was lying, of course, always lying — her very _essence_ bothered him, in the most delicious of ways — but she didn’t need to know that. “I’m working from home.”

“From home?” She sounded confused. “I thought you were a librarian.”

He chuckled a little in spite of himself. “I told you I worked in a library,” he corrected. “I never claimed to be a librarian.”

“Huh.” She paused a moment, then continued brightly, “I guess you can tell me all about it when you get here.”

She was making it so _hard_ for him to resist her, and he didn’t even think she was trying this time. He pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes, pressing down hard. Damn this woman. “ _Ja_ , I can come today,” he heard himself saying. “I can be there within the hour.”

“Perfect!” she squealed, and it went right through the phone and down his spine. “I’ll see you soon!”

“Goodbye, Jester.”

He held the phone to his ear long after the dead air cut out. What had he _done_?

He was going to see her again. Today. _Soon_. He tried to suppress the twisting sensation in his chest as he closed his laptop. Frumpkin was staring at him.

“Oh, shut up,” he muttered.

It was cooler today, even though the sun still shone brightly, and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat as he took his time on the walk to the Lavish Chateau. It was still early — too early, maybe, he’d be there in less than half the time he’d told her, even at this rate — but once he’d finally put the phone down, staying in the apartment had seemed impossible. Concentrating on the manuscript was a fool’s errand, at least, and it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He felt jittery, restless, and his mind was a blur.

He was going to see her.

The woman with the strange eyes opened the door when he knocked. “Hello,” he said, rather lamely.

She stood aside to let him in. “Jester’s just in there,” she said, gesturing down the hall to the arch leading through to the bar. “Your name is… Caleb, yes?”

“Yes.”

Her hand hovered a moment, like she was unsure of whether to extend it to shake his or not, and settled for rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly instead. “I’m Yasha,” she said. “I’m the bouncer. One of them.”

“I… gathered as much,” he said, then, “It’s nice to meet you, officially, I suppose.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” There was a pause, in which neither of them seemed to know what to do. Yasha finally looked away, gesturing again in the direction of the bar. “She’s expecting you,” she said stiffly.

He made it about three steps into the main hall before he heard a squeal. “Caleb!” Jester was bounding towards him, an enormous smile dimpling her cheeks, and the petticoats beneath her vibrant yellow sundress swished and bounced around her knees. She was barefoot again. His chest ached.

“Sorry, I’m a little early,” he said apologetically.

“No, no, this is _perfect_!” She’d latched herself onto his arm and was pulling him towards the bar, which was empty. “Mama should be down any second, you’re right on time.”

He could feel her grip on his bicep, gentle yet surprisingly strong through his coat, and she still hadn’t let go. “Where is Nott?” he asked. Out of genuine curiosity, of course. Not because her other arm had looped around his elbow and was making it _very_ hard to think right now.

Jester pursed her lips and shrugged. “Upstairs, maybe?” She glanced at him and squeezed his arm a little. “You don’t have to keep your coat on, you know,” she said, eyes glittering. “It’s not _cold_ in here.”

He could feel his ears heat up slightly under her gaze. “Oh, I don’t—”

“I can take it, if you want. Mama keeps her office _pretty_ hot so, you know, you’ll thank me later.”

Try as he might, he couldn’t come up with a plausible reason to refute this perfectly sound bit of logic, not while she looked at him so expectantly with those fingers trailing down his arm. “I — _ja_ , okay, I guess.” He sighed as he slowly shrugged the thing off, focusing on folding it neatly. He could feel her eyes on him.

“Caleb, you—”

“Is this him, Jester?”

The soft voice from the base of the stairs made him turn and — _oh_.

Oh, gods.

Everyone knew who the Ruby of the Sea was, if only by reputation alone. A renowned singer in her own right, now the owner of one of the most widely acclaimed clubs and brothels in all of Wildemount — a courtesan of kings, even in this modern age. He’d never seen her, of course; she was notoriously reclusive, and few could afford her rumored exorbitant prices.

He saw now, of course, these were entirely justified.

Her scarlet skin seemed to glow with an internal light, her dark red hair falling in elegant, effortless curls down her back. Her makeup, though understated, framed the striking white-gold of her eyes and the gentle curve of her full lips. A white silk blouse, two buttons tastefully undone; pencil skirt of a modest length, but _tight_. Everything about Jester’s looks that made the masses swoon was _perfected_ in her mother, somehow — the hourglass shape, the high cheekbones and the heart-shaped face… Where Jester was small and youthful and wild, Madam Lavorre was _statuesque_. Refined. Regal. Even from across the room, he could tell how she would tower over him, even disregarding her stiletto heels and the long curl of her horns. Her very presence filled the empty room full to bursting.

He couldn’t even register any form of attraction at the moment. He was too in awe.

“Y-yes, Mama, this is Caleb.” Jester’s voice broke him out of his reverie, and out of the corner of his eye he could see the hint of a flush fading from her cheeks. How odd. Did her mother make her nervous too? This didn’t bode well at _all_.

He cleared his throat hastily as the Ruby came towards them, a curious tilt to her head. “Ah, Madam Lavorre—”

“Marion. Please.” She extended a delicate hand and Caleb had the odd urge to kiss it. It seemed like the sort of thing one should do to someone like her, as a show of respect. He shook it lightly instead.

“Caleb Widogast,” he said. “I hope I am not imposing—”

“Don’t be silly, Caleb,” said Jester. “I _invited_ you, remember?”

A small smile graced Marion’s lips. “Quite,” she murmured, and gestured back towards the stairs. “Shall we continue this in my office…?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll take your coat,” said Jester, and her cool fingers brushed his hand as she took it from him. It looked much too large, bundled up in her arms. He hoped, embarrassedly, it didn’t dirty her dress. He really should get the wretched thing cleaned.

Caleb followed Marion up the stairs to the second floor, past all the raunchily-named VIP rooms to a grand oak door near the stairway up to the third floor. The spidery script on the plaque simply read “Manager.” She held it open for him and gestured him inside. “Please,” she said. “Sit.”

Jester was right; the room was a good ten degrees warmer than the hallway, at _least._ It was just as elegantly decorated as the club downstairs, but in a more antique sense — all wood panels and deep red wallpaper. An ornately carved desk dominated the room, plush leather chair behind it. Caleb hesitated only momentarily before seating himself in one of the smaller chairs in front of it. He felt ridiculously out of place.

Marion closed the door behind him and once behind her desk, gazed at him deeply over steepled fingers. “So,” she said finally. “Jester tells me you are… an accountant, yes?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Not precisely,” he admitted. “I told her I was good with numbers, but I am not… officially trained as such, no.”

“I see.”

“She mentioned you had been having trouble with your former employee.”

She sighed. “A bit,” she said. “He was… not who he claimed to be.”

“I only offered to take a look,” he said. “I thought I could be of some assistance….”

She lowered her hands, tilting her head, those white-golden eyes boring into him. “Why?”

Her voice was gentle, curious, but with her eyes on him and that commanding presence he couldn’t help but feel like he was being interrogated. He resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat. “Your daughter is… very charming,” he began haltingly. “She mentioned that you were having trouble balancing the books after your… problem, and I thought I could offer my services as I have some… _experience_ with such things, although not in an… _official_ capacity, exactly.”

Those slender fingers pressed together again over pursed lips. “If I may ask,” she said, “what is it you do for a living, Caleb? May I call you Caleb?”

He nodded mutely. “I work in the archives of the Cobalt Reserve here on the Menagerie Coast,” he said. “I mainly transcribe and translate ancient texts.”

A perfectly penciled eyebrow arched at that. “You are a monk?” she said, surprise evident in her voice.

He felt his ears heat up and felt suddenly glad his hair was long enough to cover them. “Ah, no,” he said. “I have a friend who belongs to the Order, but my studies are more… arcane in nature.”

“A wizard, then?” She leaned back in her chair slightly. “How fascinating. I haven’t encountered a proper wizard in _many_ years.”

“We are a dying breed, I am afraid.”

“Not much call for offensive magicks in these times of peace, to be sure.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, crossed her legs under the desk. “Forgive me, Jester told me you were smart, but she did not mention your, ah…” She tilted her head again. “You say you are good with numbers as well?”

“I — _ja_ , I would say so.”

“Indulge me, if you would.” She reached down into a drawer, pulling out a large, leather-bound book, and pushed it gently across the desk towards him.

He opened the book to a random page, seeing the rows and rows of numbers carefully penned in a smooth hand. “You do not keep digital records?” he asked.

The corners of Marion’s mouth twitched upwards. “We keep both,” she said, gesturing at the book. “This one… it is old. You will forgive me for not simply handing you the keys to our current financial records just like that.”

“Of course,” he murmured, but he was only half-listening. The numbers swam before him, the sums adding up automatically in his head as he flicked through a few pages. After a moment he tore his eyes away, remembering where he was. “This book…” he said, “it is from when your previous employee worked here, yes?”

“Why do you ask?”

He spun the book around and pointed. “There,” he said. “That one should be a two. And there—” He pointed again, “—this should be a four. And here…”

Her eyes widened as she followed his fingers, smile slipping as he pointed out mistake after mistake. “You did this all in your head?” she said. “And so quickly.”

He retracted his hand, feeling his face redden slightly. “ _Ja_ ,” he said, a little embarrassedly. “ _Ja_ , I did.”

She studied him for a moment, then pulled out her phone, a small, slim thing, from some unseen source. She tapped a few keys before glancing at him again. “What is fifty-seven plus eighty-nine?” she said.

“One hundred and forty-six,” he said, furrowing his brow in confusion.

A few more taps. “Six hundred and ninety-four multiplied by three hundred and eighty.”

She was testing him. “Two hundred and sixty-three thousand, seven hundred and twenty.”

A last round of taps, a curious expression on her face as she glanced back at him. “Eighteen thousand and thirty-two,” she said, “divided by twelve.”

“One thousand, five hundred and two, point six. And some.”

She leaned back in her chair again, eyebrows raised. “I must confess,” she admitted slowly, “when Jester came to me about you, I was… skeptical.”

He closed the book carefully. “That is understandable,” he said delicately, “considering the circumstances.”

“I mean no offense, of course.”

“Of course.”

“You have impressed me, Caleb,” she said, leaning over to search through another drawer. The open collar of her blouse shifted as she did, revealing a soft expanse of scarlet skin. He looked away quickly.

“I only wished to help,” he said to the ceiling.

The gentle rustle of paper brought his attention back to the desk, at her long, manicured fingers pushing a sheaf of stapled pages towards him. He took them with raised eyebrows.

“This is a… contract,” he said lamely.

“The job is yours,” she said. “You are by far the most qualified person I have met so far.”

“I did not…” He paused as he skimmed the fine print, flipping through the pages.

She cocked an eyebrow. “This is a job interview, yes? That _is_ why you offered your services to my daughter? Or have I misunderstood…?”

“That’s not—” He broke off suddenly, staring at the figures before him. “You’re paying — _how_ much?” he choked out.

Marion steepled her fingers again as she leaned forward. “I understand it might be a bit lower than other, similar positions, but if you’ll look a little further down, you’ll see the lease to the apartment is included in the agreement…”

He was still reeling from the proposed salary, which he still didn’t entirely believe was real. “ _Low_? I — My apologies, did you say _‘apartment’_?”

She rose, pulling out a key ring from the same void from which she’d retrieved her phone. “Follow me.”

Still clutching the contract with its absolutely _ridiculous_ numbers, he followed her in somewhat of a daze as she led him up the sweeping stairs to the third floor and down the wide hall to a door near the end. _‘Nearly directly beneath Jester’s room,’_ his mind supplied deviously.

The lock clicked quietly as Marion opened the door and waved him in. “It is one of the smaller apartments,” she said apologetically. “But all the utilities are included, of course — power, water, internet…”

Caleb stared at the apartment — at the high ceilings, at the clean walls and pristine appliances in the kitchen alcove; at the wide open archway leading up the half-step to the bedroom. He wandered through the living room area, across the seemingly endless hardwood floor, past doors leading to… where? He didn’t feel like he could open them to look. Not that Marion would have stopped him, he thought, but he was too overwhelmed to even try.

“This… is part of the payment?” he said faintly.

Marion nodded. “If it is unsatisfactory,” she said, “we could possibly renegotiate your salary to compensate, of course—”

“ _Nein_ , ah, no, this is…” He inhaled slowly, looking around him. The living room area alone was almost larger than his entire studio apartment. And he could live _here_. For _free_.

“I realize you say you have another job,” said Marion. “But I hope that won’t affect your decision…”

“I work from home, mostly,” he murmured absently.

Marion smiled. “Excellent.”

A thought occurred to him suddenly, an ugly smudge of dark on this shining opportunity. “I have a cat,” he said, almost reluctantly. “Would that be a problem?”

“A… cat?” A cloud seemed to pass over Marion’s exquisite features and his heart sank momentarily, but then she shook her head. “Your familiar. Of course. No, that… that won’t be a problem. It is… quiet, I presume? My apologies, I am… unfamiliar with pets. I have never had one myself.”

“He is a good cat,” said Caleb, a little lamely.

“Of course.” Marion nodded. “It will be no problem, then.” She tilted her head again, and he was sure he didn’t imagine the faintly hopeful look in her eye as she did. “So… have you reached a decision? You will sign?”

Caleb smiled weakly. “Do you have a pen?”

As he made his way back downstairs a few minutes later, a little dazedly, he saw Jester still at the bar, still clutching his worn leather coat, chatting animatedly with Yasha. His heart twisted slightly in his chest as he watched her, as she flipped her hair over a bare shoulder and laughed, and a cold, slimy feeling slithered through his gut. What was he doing? He was trying to get _out_ of her life, not insert himself more firmly _into_ it.

She glanced up as he paused there on the stairs, somehow brightening even more when she saw him. “Caleb!” she called, waving him over. “How did it go? Did it go okay? What happened? Tell me _everything_!”

“Ah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. What _had_ happened, exactly? He was still not entirely convinced he was awake. “I — I suppose… I live here now?”

Jester’s hands clapped to her mouth, eyes widening. “You took the job?” she said.

“I — _ja_ , I did.” _Why_ , and _how_ , were still unclear to him at the moment, but suddenly it didn’t matter anymore because she’d flung her arms around him, and something in his brain short-circuited.

“Oh my gosh, that’s so _great_!” she squealed, and the gentle squeeze of her cool arms through the long sleeves of his shirt was rapidly turning his insides to jelly. “We’re going to be _neighbors_! Isn’t that _cool_?”

“ _Ja_ ,” he managed awkwardly. He was hyper-aware of every inch of her body pressed against him — he was _sure_ his face was a mortifying shade of red right now, and Yasha’s mildly interested gaze and raised eyebrows were _definitely_ not helping — and tried in vain to clear his head. “Very cool,” he mumbled.

She released him just enough to look up at him. “You’re bringing your cat, right?” she said seriously. “It’s very important that you bring your cat.”

He blinked at her. “Of course I’m bringing my cat,” he said.

Her face split again into that sweet smile, cheeks dimpling. “Good,” she said. “We’ve never had a _pet_ around here before, I can’t _wait_ to meet him! I-if that’s okay with you?” she added, almost shyly.

He couldn’t help it — a corner of his mouth quirked up at that. “Of course,” he said. “We’re going to be neighbors, you should meet my cat.”

For all their similarities, her eyes were so strangely unlike her mother’s, so big, long-lashed; crystalline violet irises instead of the alien expanse of color typical of Infernal ancestry. He could nearly count the freckles dusting her nose at this close distance, count those long, dark lashes; they weren’t entirely purple, he realized, because there was gold in her eyes — just a little, just _there_ , a small ring of amber around her wide pupils…

“I like cats,” said Yasha thoughtfully.

Caleb coughed as Jester released him with a small jerk of her head, the faintest hint of lavender-pink coloring her cheeks. “Well,” she said.

“I should go,” he said simultaneously.

She grinned at him, and extended his coat towards him. “Here,” she said, unnecessarily.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. And then, pausing to put it on, he glanced at her. “Thank you, Jester,” he said sincerely. “For speaking to your mother. This was… an unexpected outcome.”

Her cheeks dimpled again. “Of course, Caleb,” she said. “It was _your_ idea, though.”

“ _Ja_ , well…” He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded politely at Yasha. “It was nice to meet you,” he said.

Yasha inclined her head in response.

“Come back soon, okay?” Jester called after him as he made his way to the exit. He glanced over his shoulder and she grinned widely. “You _have_ to, now,” she said.

He was still smiling as he stepped out into the cool Nicodranas air.

The smile died slightly on his trek back to his apartment, however — his soon-to-be- _ex_ -apartment, actually. How had he let this happen? He wasn’t a religious man, and yet a week ago, he would have blessed the gods at such an incredible opportunity. That apartment? The _money_? He’d never even conceived of earning that much money in his whole _life_ , much less as a _yearly salary_. And being close to Jester, to be able to see her _every day_ —

No, no, that was a _problem_ , wasn’t it? He didn’t — _shouldn’t_ — want to be close to her. He’d told himself not to lose himself in thoughts of her, hadn’t he? He barely knew the woman, after all. She wasn’t interested in him, not really, and he was in no position to pursue her, even if he wanted to.

 _‘I_ do _want to, though,’_ he thought, and immediately suppressed it.

No, he didn’t. It was lust, pure and simple — it had been so long since he’d come across anyone who’d made him feel like this, that was all. It would pass, as all things eventually did. And then she’d just be another person again; his neighbor, his… friend? Possibly, but probably not. She’d lose interest after the novelty had worn off, and that would be alright. Wouldn’t it?

 _‘But until then,’_ a part of him reasoned slyly, _‘why not enjoy it while it lasts?’_

He sighed as he let himself into his apartment, as Frumpkin fixed him with a _look_. “Don’t,” he said wearily. “You don’t have to say it, I already know.”

Frumpkin hopped off the couch and padded over to the bed, wiggling under it in the very deliberate manner he did when he was sulking. Caleb ignored him and shrugged off his coat. Frumpkin would get over it. Eventually. He’d enjoy the new surroundings, at least. Meeting new people, possibly. Meeting Jester…

Oh gods, it was really happening. He’d be moving, packing up his meager belongings and _moving_ … He’d have to get boxes, of course, and _furniture_ — more than his sagging couch and ancient mattress and flimsy second-hand desk, to fill that enormous, blank space of potential, the mirror image of Jester’s apartment upstairs —

Her flirtatious smirk flitted across his thoughts, her eyelids fluttering as she handed him her phone for his number, those soft, strangely cool fingers brushing his and setting his nerves alight. _‘You know,’_ she’d murmured. _‘For later.’_

Her excited squeal as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself against him. _‘That’s so_ great _!’_ she’d said, and when she looked up at him with those amethyst eyes he’d lost the ability to speak.

 _‘Come back soon, okay?’_ she’d said, the grin audible in her voice as though this had been a private joke between them. _‘You_ have _to, now.’_

Mollymauk was going to be _insufferable_ when he found out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _jester's moooom has got it goin ooooooooooon..._ if there isn't a cr parody of this song _some_ where on the internet, i will riot.
> 
> OH!! ALSO!! [littlewizardart](https://littlewizardart.tumblr.com/) on tumblr made this fic's first [fanart](https://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com/post/184498133038/an-illustration-i-did-to-surprise)?? i'm crying in the club?? AND SHOUTOUT TO ROSA IN THE WIDOJEST SERVER who also made a beautiful dancing jester i would link here if there were a link to supply. i am lying on the floor and it's _fine._
> 
> posted to tumblr [here.](https://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com/post/184852842838/welcome-to-burlesque-ch4)
> 
>  
> 
> [main.](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com)  
> [writing blog.](http://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com)  
> [art blog.](http://bloodandpurpleink.tumblr.com)


	5. A Guy That I'd Kinda Be Into

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from [_Be More Chill_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NeSpeMB2h2g)

“He did _what_?”

“He took the _job_ , Molly,” said Jester. “Weren’t you listening? He’s gonna come live here, isn’t that cool?”

“Caleb Widogast? _My_ Caleb Widogast?” Molly’s tail flicked through the air, draped over her couch as he was. “Skinny introvert, cat-lady extraordinaire, offered to come work _here_ , just… out of the blue? And not only did your mother then _offer him an actual job_ , but he accepted the _apartment_ as part of the deal? Are you _sure_ we’re talking about the same man?”

“ _Yes_ , Molly.”

“That _bastard_ ,” said Molly. “No _wonder_ he’s been avoiding me.”

“Why would he avoid you?” She bumped his legs with her hip and he lifted them so she could sit down. “You introduced us in the first place. This wouldn’t have happened at _all_ if you hadn’t brought him here.”

“That’s _exactly_ why,” he said, settling his feet back in her lap. “If he doesn’t see me, he doesn’t have to grovel at my feet for this _incredible_ turn of luck as he so clearly should. Ungrateful bastard,” he added mildly.

Jester hummed thoughtfully as she sipped her tea. “It’s been so _long_ since anyone new moved in here,” she said.

She could feel Molly’s gaze flick over her and her stomach clenched as she fought to keep a neutral expression. “It has,” he agreed. “Looking forward to it, are you?”

She shrugged. “It’ll be pretty cool,” she said casually. “He’s bringing his cat, you know. I’ve never met a real cat before.”

“I would hardly call Frumpkin a _‘real cat,’_ but…” He cocked his head, the corners of his mouth curling up into a sly grin. “So,” he said. “What do you think of him?”

“The cat?”

Molly prodded her with his toe. “The _man_ ,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t play coy with me. You’re not as slick as you think you are, darling.”

“I don’t think I’m _slick_ ,” Jester protested. “What do I have to be slick about, anyway? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you know you babble when you’re nervous?” he said.

“Do _not_ ,” she mumbled into her tea.

“You do, and it’s _adorable._ ” His eyes glinted. “Now, what on _earth_ could you _possibly_ be nervous about?”

“Nothing!”

“Then answer the question.”

“He’s…” She chewed her lip, mulling her words. _‘Handsome,’_ her mind supplied unhelpfully. “… _Nice_ ,” she said carefully. “He seems really nice, yeah.”

“ _And_ …?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she huffed. “It’s not like I know him that well, we’ve only met a couple of times. But he seems _nice_. And his cat is, like, _really_ cute.”

“And that’s all?”

“Stop _staring_ at me!”

“I’ll stop _staring_ when you start _sharing_ , love.” His eyebrows were raised in that infuriating way he did when he was feeling smug. Although what he could _possibly_ have to feel smug about, Jester certainly had no idea. “You’re hiding something,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“Am _not_.”

“It only gets worse the longer you deny it, you know,” he said. “You can’t lie to me. I know you far too well for that.”

“What did I lie about? I said he was nice!”

“Yes, _and_?” He sat up finally, curling his legs under him to rest his chin expectantly on his hands. “Come on, out with it,” he wheedled. “Nothing you say could _possibly_ shock me.”

“He’s just… _nice_ ,” she insisted. “And he seems really smart and stuff. I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“Oh, but your face is saying _plenty_.”

“Is _not_!”

“It’s alright,” he said, shrugging. “I already know.”

Know…? He couldn’t possibly know… what? That she thought he was good-looking? That was hardly a crime. So why did the thought of Molly pulling it out of her make her heart do that nervous stutter of embarrassment? “Know what?” she asked, as nonchalantly as she could into her mug.

“That you want to fuck him.”

Jester choked on her tea.

“Oh, come _on_ , you want to bang that wizard like a drum,” said Molly. “Just admit it, we’re all adults here.”

“I do _not_ ,” said Jester hotly, “want to _fuck_ him. I don’t even _know_ him!”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?” he said. “When has that ever stopped anyone? You think _I_ know the whole life story of everyone I’ve ever—”

“Yeah, but I’m not like _you_ , Molly,” she said. Her face was burning now. “I couldn’t… Even if I _wanted_ to, I—” She was digging herself a very deep hole, she realized, if Molly’s growing grin was any indication, and she trailed instead into a flustered silence. “I guess,” she confessed finally, quietly, when his gaze didn’t waver, “I just think he’s… kind of cute, maybe? I guess?”

He tilted his head, that shit-eating grin still dimpling one side of his face. “He’s got nice hands, hasn’t he?” he said conspiratorially.

The faint memory of his hands on her hips, fingers gripping her like a vice as those icy blue eyes bored into hers, had her blushing again. “I guess,” she said, as noncommittally as she could.

“Nice arms, too.”

Images of Caleb shrugging off his coat by the bar, the vague implication of muscles working under the thin cotton of his shirtsleeves as he folded it methodically, danced across her mind. “Yeah,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Perfect, really,” he said slyly. “Long fingers. Nimble. _Dexterous_.”

“Yeah…”

“Now,” he continued, “just imagine… Those arms around you, holding you tight… Pinning you to the bed while he slips those hands between your—”

“ _Stop it_ , Molly,” she said, smacking his shoulder, although her ears felt very hot all of a sudden. “Don’t be _mean_.”

“ _‘Mean’_? How is that _‘mean’_? I’m basically implying he’s a sex god, that’s hardly _mean_.”

“He’s your _friend_ ,” she said indignantly, trying _very_ hard not to think about… _that_. “You’re — you’re _objectifying_ him!”

He raised another eyebrow. “Jester,” he said seriously. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but… we’re _strippers_ , darling. Getting objectified is our _job_.”

She smacked his arm again, although with less venom this time. “Yeah, well… It’s not _his_ ,” she said haltingly.

“And yet I’m sure you wish it was.” Jester stuck her tongue out at him. “Oh, come now, don’t be like that. Save that tongue for—” The pillow she shoved in his laughing face cut off the rest of that _entirely_ unnecessary thought.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she mumbled, ducking her head to hide her furiously blushing face. “He wouldn’t — I mean, that’s just _stupid_ , I… Anyway, I don’t even _want_ —”

“And why not?” he asked, tossing the pillow aside, where it tumbled off the couch onto the floor by her feet. “He’s handsome, I suppose. For a human. And a bookish one, at that.”

She glanced sideways at him. “You just called him a skinny cat-lady,” she said.

“True, but that’s because I happen to know him as a person,” he said. “ _You_ , my dear, have the advantage of not knowing what an absolute stick in the mud he is on the inside.”

“ _Now_ you’re being mean,” she said crossly. “He can’t be _that_ bad. And besides, magic is, like, _really_ cool! I bet he knows all sorts of interesting things.”

“Yes, like how to use those hands to make you scream _all night_ —”

“ _Molly_!”

He shrugged. “I’m just _saying._ He could use a good fuck, anyway.”

“Is that all I am?” she said, a little facetiously in spite of her embarrassment.

“Of _course_ not. But you know what I mean. The way he looked that night when you were done with him was the most alive I’ve seen him in—” He paused a moment, looking thoughtful. “Well, I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen him like that.” He eyed her shrewdly. “You’re not holding out on me, are you? You didn’t fuck him already, did you?”

“What — _no_!” Her face was _burning_ now, and she hunched again over her teacup, letting her hair fall forward to hide her probably _mortified_ expression.

He gasped delightedly. “You _did_!” he exclaimed, tail twitching. “You saucy little minx! What was it like?”

“I didn’t—”

“Oh, I’m _dying_ to know what he’s like under that ridiculous coat. Was he loud? Did he _bite_? Because I’ve always thought he looked like a biter—”

“I don’t _do_ that!” she interrupted loudly. “It was just a lapdance, that’s _all_.”

“Oh.” He paused again, seeming to deflate a little in disappointment, but recovered quickly. “Well, what _happened_ , then? He still won’t talk about it, you know. It’s _infuriating_.”

“Nothing _happened_.” She stared at her cooling tea, at the soft steam curling off the surface. “I just… _danced_ , really. I let him… _touch_ me a little, but—”

“O _ho_ ,” he said, perking up again. “You _were_ holding out on me.” His eyes glinted. “Already _intimately_ familiar with those hands, are we? Naughty.”

“It wasn’t like _that_ ,” she said. “He just… held my waist a little, really, he didn’t even touch any skin! And then he got really weird and left.”

He cocked his head quizzically. “Weird _how_?”

“Well, he pulled out a picture of his cat…”

Molly sagged against the couch again disinterestedly. “That’s not _weird_ , that’s just _Caleb_ ,” he said. “He won’t shut up about the stupid thing. Told you he was boring.”

“Frumpkin _is_ very cute, though.”

He snorted. “Sure,” he said sarcastically.

Jester settled back into the cushions. She didn’t know how to convey the _change_ she’d seen that night, from stuttering and red-faced, to intense and _hungry_ , to babbling and closed off again — and, more importantly, did she really _want_ to? She supposed Molly of all people would know best; after all, he and Caleb were _friends_ , as odd a mashup as that might be, and he had so much more _experience_ than her. He’d probably be able to dissect Caleb’s strange behavior better than she could ever hope to. But then again, he seemed to be of a singular mind on this topic, having already apparently decided the best course of action would be for her to simply strip down and jump into bed with the man, and then continue on with her life as though nothing had happened.

Maybe she wanted to get to know him better. Figure him out on her own.

At least when it came to _that_.

Not sex, of course — that was silly; she barely knew him. Just the lapdance. That was all.

“Do you know what those sigils mean?” she asked finally. “The ones in his wallet?”

Molly waved his hand dismissively. “Who knows?” he said. “He’s always scribbling down notes like that. I think he gets them from those manuscripts he translates. Bit useless, if you ask me.”

“Magic is _useful_.”

“ _Your_ magic, yes. His?” He pursed his lips. “I don’t see why he could possibly need some of the spells he’s talked about — walls of fire and magical armor and such. He’s not even in the _military_. Maybe that sort of thing was useful a few hundred years ago, but…”

The thought of Caleb in a dungeon, or perhaps an underground cavern of some sort, clad in battle-weary adventuring garb from those old storybooks she used to read as a child — all historical settings, with ancient heroes and terrifying monsters — flames licking up his arms as he conjured a wall of fire between him and faceless enemies, eyes hard and hair in disarray… Gosh, why was she drinking _tea_ right now? It was much too hot for tea; it was practically _summertime_ , for Traveler’s sake. She set the mug down quickly.

He was looking at her again. “Think of something pleasant?” he teased.

She flushed. “N-no, I just…” She shook her head to clear it, staring down at her hands. “Do you think he’d tell me about them? If I asked?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to fuck him?” he said. “Because that’s an _excellent_ way to get into his pants. He probably won’t _stop_ telling you about them once he gets started.”

At least they’d have something to talk about, then; that was a nice thought. She smiled a little in spite of herself. “What’s he like?” she asked.

He considered this for a moment. “Boring,” he said finally.

She poked him. “I’m serious, Molly,” she said.

“So am I,” he said. “I told you, all he cares about are his stupid books and his stupid cat. Which is a _menace_ , by the way. I don’t understand why you’re so excited to meet it.”

“I _like_ cats,” she said. “At least, I _think_ I do. Or would, I guess.”

“I almost feel bad that _he’s_ going to be your first experience with one, then.”

“I’m sure he’s _lovely_ ,” she said firmly, picking up her mug of tea again. “You’re just being a _dick_.”

“And why do you want to learn about magic, anyway?” He squinted at her. “You’re not trying to become a wizard too, are you? Because one is _quite_ enough, thank you.”

“No, I just…” She struggled to find the words to express herself — at least in a way that wouldn’t make her sound completely pathetic. “I think it would be interesting, that’s all. I like learning new things. And magic is _cool_ , you know? Like, _my_ magic is really cool and stuff, but it’s all just… _healing_ , you know? Simple. Mine just _happens._ Wizards have to use… _stuff_ for their spells. Ooh,” she said, struck by sudden inspiration, “does he have, like, a _secret spell cupboard_ or something? Or maybe like a — a belt with _pouches_ where he keeps, like, his _newt eyes_ and stuff.”

“That would get rather smelly, I think,” he said blandly.

“I guess you’re right,” she said, and brightened again. “Oh, _oh_ , do you think he has a _spellbook_? Wizards have spellbooks, right?”

“I have no idea, you’ll have to ask one.”

“You know what? I think I will,” she said. “Since you’re no help.”

He merely grinned lazily at her. “You know, for someone who _definitely isn’t interested_ ,” he said, “you’re asking an _awful_ lot of questions, darling.”

“I _am_ interested,” she said, and oh dear, _that_ didn’t come out right at _all_. “I mean,” she said, backpedaling madly, “he seems _interesting_. I want to get to know him, you know? Since we’re going to be neighbors and all. I just don’t want to _fuck_ him.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, in a tone that definitely didn’t sound convinced, and grinned again. “Mark my words, you’ll be going at it like rabbits in _no_ time.”

“Will _not_ ,” she said. “Don’t be gross, Molly.”

“You say that now,” he said. “But you’ll change your tune soon enough.” The grin turned wicked. “Especially when he gets those _lovely_ hands of his around your—”

The pillow she grabbed off the floor and ground in his face _almost_ drowned out his sniggering.

It was another two days until she saw Caleb again. It was an accident, really; it wasn’t like he’d told her when he was moving or anything. They hadn’t spoken since Mama had offered him the job — a whole nine days ago. That wasn’t very long, not _really_ , but it still felt like _forever_ somehow.

A part of her started to worry again — had something happened? Had he reconsidered? Maybe he’d _died_ or something, like, got hit by a _bus_ or something; that would _really_ suck — but she reminded herself that he had a life of his own; there was probably lots to do to prepare for the move, and he _did_ have another job… She remembered what it had been like, moving from hers and Mama’s — now just Mama’s — apartment to her own place a few months ago; _that_ process had taken nearly three whole weeks, and _she’d_ only been moving down the hall. Caleb’s move could take three _months_.

Plus, it wasn’t like they were really _friends_ , exactly. Not yet, anyway. She couldn’t expect him to update her on every little thing he did before he came back. Even if she _was_ his landlord by proxy. Landlady. Landperson. _Very pretty and funny and overall great lady who collected rent_. By proxy. Even though there _technically_ wasn’t any rent to collect, but that didn’t really matter. It was _symbolic_.

She was thinking all of these things as she trotted down the stairs to look for Mama, who was _supposed_ to have been locked in her office again — she was locked in there most days, really; had been ever since the last accountant had been… ahem, _removed_ , trying to clean up the mess he’d left behind — and nearly ran into someone on the way down.

“Oh,” she said, a little startled by the sudden _person_ in her way, whose face was blocked by the tall cardboard box carried by lean, brown arms. “Sorry.”

“You wanna move?” said the gruff voice behind the box. “This thing is pretty heavy…”

“Oh, sorry,” she said again, sheepishly this time, and as she stepped aside she squinted at the woman as she trudged past. “Wait… You’re Beau, right? Molly’s friend!”

“Oh,” said Beau, pausing again. “Sorry. Hi. Yeah, that’s me.”

“It’s so nice to see you!”

“Uh, likewise. Hey, uh, you mind giving me a hand real quick?” There was a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead, and the box shifted uncomfortably in her arms. “It’s slipping a little…”

“Oh, of course!” said Jester hurriedly, taking the box from Beau’s grasp. It had a heft to it, like it was full of bricks.

“Uh, I didn’t mean — it’s really heavy—” Beau stopped when Jester adjusted her grip to the left, balancing the box on her hip and supporting it with her other hand, so as not to block her view. “Jesus.”

“What?” Beau was staring at her oddly, like she’d done something remarkable. Her brow furrowed.

“You just… Never mind.” Beau rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, seemingly unsure of where to look. “You’re… stronger than you look, that’s all.”

Jester blinked. “Oh,” she said, and grinned. “Yeah, I _am_ pretty strong.” She gestured to the box. “So… where’s this going? I don’t mind taking it, if your arms need a break or something.”

Beau looked momentarily conflicted, but swallowed when Jester bounced the box a little higher on her hip. “Uh, third floor. On the end, I think.” She shrugged lopsidedly, an apologetic half-grin quirking her mouth. “I’ve only been here twice,” she explained.

“Third floor…” Jester brightened instantly, an odd fluttering beginning somewhere deep in her chest. “Of _course_! You’re Caleb’s friend too! You’re helping him move? Is he here?” She glanced hopefully down the stairs, but the landing between the first and second floors was disappointingly empty.

“He should be around here somewhere,” said Beau. “Probably getting stuff out of Fjord’s truck or something.”

“That’s cool,” said Jester. Casually. Of _course_ he was here. He was moving here. _Today_ , apparently. Her spine tingled pleasantly.

“So… you know the way, right?” Beau paused, and her cheeks reddened slightly. “Oh, wait, shit, never mind. You _live_ here, of course you — never mind, I’ll just shut up now.”

Jester giggled and hefted the box a little higher. “You’re _funny_ ,” she said, inclining her head. “Come on, this way.” She adjusted the massive box again and trotted back up the way she came.

Beau trailed along behind her, panting slightly as they came finally reached the third floor and continued down the hall. “How are you not _exhausted_ right now?” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. “ _God_ , you’re fuckin’ fast. Can you even see where you’re going?”

Jester shrugged. “Not really,” she said. “But I’ve lived here my whole life, you know, I know my way around _pretty_ well. And this—” She jiggled the box, which rattled slightly, “—isn’t really _that_ heavy. Did you know this hallway is seventy-eight steps long?”

“I… didn’t,” said Beau.

“Well, it was when I was seven, anyway,” said Jester conversationally. “And I took _really_ long steps on purpose because, you know, my legs were _really_ short and I wanted to see how far I could stretch. I should probably measure again… Oh, here we are,” she continued, stopping and glancing behind her at her companion. “Do you have the key?”

“Uh,” said Beau.

“Oh, never mind,” said Jester, glancing around the box to see the door was slightly ajar. “Do you think he’d mind if I—?”

“Jester?”

Oh, his voice was even nicer than she remembered. Her name in that accent… She beamed, even though he couldn’t see her behind the cardboard. “Hi, Caleb! I brought you a _present_.”

“What are you — you didn’t have to do that,” he said, sounding bewildered.

“Speak for yourself,” muttered Beau. “My back is killing me.”

“You should lift with your legs,” said Jester earnestly. “That’s _way_ better for your back.”

“Noted,” said Beau. To Caleb, she continued, “I thought you were downstairs.”

“I was, but you were taking so long I came back up without you.”

“Can I come in?” said Jester.

“Oh — _ja_ , yes, of course.” His feet shifted to stand aside and she marched past him through the door, elbow just barely brushing his chest on the way past. The heat of him sent a shiver up her arm.

“Where do you want it…?”

“Oh, ah, there is fine.”

She let the box down gently on the floor, though it still let out an audible _thud_ as it hit wood. “Geeze, Caleb, what do you have in this thing?” she said. “It’s pretty big.”

Beau let out a strangled half-snort that Caleb ignored as Jester turned back to them, leaning lightly on the box. “Books,” he said. “And things.”

“ _Magic_ things?” she asked.

“And non-magic things.”

“ _Cool_ ,” she said. There was a pause, in which she looked around her, taking in the blank walls and wide, empty spaces that were a mirror and simultaneously the polar opposite of her own apartment, mere feet above their heads. “There’s not much in here yet,” she observed. “Did you guys just get here or something?”

“Ah, yes,” he said awkwardly.

She grinned. “Guess I got here just in time, then,” she said. “You guys need any more help? I don’t mind carrying more stuff if you need.” She flexed a bicep, waggling her eyebrows at them. Beau and Caleb exchanged glances and quickly looked away, each of them slightly redder than before. Her grin widened.

“ _Ja_ , well, thank you for offering, but we have a few errands to run first,” said Caleb to the wall, clearing his throat with a cough.

“We’ll definitely hit you up later, though,” added Beau, stepping on his foot in a way that was clearly supposed to be surreptitious, but didn’t account for the accompanying wince that crossed his face. “If the offer still stands.”

Jester almost felt the corners of her smile fall a little, but she shoved her slight disappointment down deep and instead shrugged lightly. “Alright,” she said, straightening. “Of course, Beau! I’ll just… be in my apartment.” She cocked her head at Caleb. “You remember where it is, right?” she said sweetly. “Right… up… there?” She pointed to the ceiling and smiled.

Both Caleb _and_ Beau swallowed at that, she noticed with some small satisfaction. “Uh,” said Beau.

“Great! Well, guess I’ll see you later then!” She brushed past them and glanced over her shoulder to waggle her fingers. “Bye!”

She could hear Beau spluttering behind her as she headed back down the hall. “ _Dude_ ,” she was stage-whispering, and Jester heard a muted smacking sound and a hiss of pain, as though Caleb had just been punched in the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you’d been to her _place_. What the _hell_ , man?”

She suppressed a small smile.

The fun, it seemed, was just getting started.

She knew they wouldn’t call her back for another few hours at least, but as the afternoon came and went without so much as a text, she began to feel a little… what? Upset? No, that was too strong a word. Miffed? Maybe. Either way, the quality of her drawings was rapidly dwindling, the floor around her littered with crumpled scraps of sketchbook paper, and her patience with watercolors as a whole was running laughably thin.

She swore loudly in Infernal as a sudden buzzing in the very early evening made her jump, her brush skidding across the paper. Where was her _fucking_ phone? She spent a good five minutes hunting around before she remembered; shoved between couch cushions, naturally — she’d stuffed it there when the blank screen seemed to be _taunting_ her with its blankness — but her heart swooped suddenly when she saw the contact name.

_Caleb_.

She felt jittery as she unlocked the phone, read the few short words there in black and white. Their first text.

_‘Could you come downstairs? If you’re still available._ — _Caleb’_

She only realized she was grinning like a lunatic when her cheeks started feeling sore. He _signed his texts_. Like a _dork_. Or did he just sign it now, for her, just in case she’d… what? Deleted his number? That was _adorable_.

She was almost skipping as she went down the stairs.

His door was open again; the gap between it and the doorframe widened slightly as she rapped out a quick little beat with two knuckles. “ _Cay-leb_ ,” she sang. “Are you home? I got your text!”

“ _Ja_ , come in,” came the muffled reply, followed by an equally muffled, “ _Scheisse_.” He sounded like he had a mouth full of… _something_. She gently pushed the door open.

The apartment was considerably more crowded than it had been before — sparse, still, compared to her own, but mainly because there was no real furniture; only boxes and bags of varying sizes, organized in neat little rows and piles, grouped together in an orderly fashion that created precise pathways through the systematic chaos. Behind it all stood Caleb, struggling with a towering, slightly wobbling bookshelf.

She hurried over, grabbing the other side as he steadied it and straightened. “Ah, _danke_ ,” he said, taking a small collection of screws out from between his lips. “That could have gone… poorly.”

“Why were you trying to _move_ it, silly?” she said, nudging him playfully in the ribs as he placed the screws carefully on one of the shelves. “You usually build stuff where you want it to end up, so it doesn’t, like, fall on your head when you try to shove it around.”

“I _did_ build it where I wanted it.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face, the faintest hint of a sheepish grin playing around his lips. “And then I changed my mind.”

A small flicker of warmth spread through her chest at that grin. “Why’re you doing this by yourself, anyway?” she said. “Where’s Beau?”

“Out,” he said. “We didn’t have the space in the truck for everything in one go, she and Fjord have been going back and forth to pick things up in batches. I thought I could get started here while they were gone.”

“You could have called me sooner, you know,” she chided, not unkindly. “I could have helped with these boxes.”

“Ah, no, Fjord could probably use the exercise.” He waved his hand dismissively, but she caught the slight pink in his cheeks with a pleasant twist in her stomach. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“ _Cay-leb_ ,” she said, drawing out his name again with a smack of her lips, and the pink of his ears deepened just a touch. “I _wanted_ to help. You wouldn’t have bothered me. I thought you didn’t want my help at all and were just trying to be polite.”

His gaze flicked over her and stuttered away. “Well,” he said. “I appreciated the offer.”

She smiled at him, shoving her hands in the pockets of her skinny jeans. Mostly to hide the sudden nervous jitter in her fingers. “So,” she said brightly. “What do you need me for first?”

Most of their conversation for the next half-hour or so consisted mainly of confusion over assembly directions and muttered curses over squashed fingers, but as the clock ticked closer to the next hour, they’d assembled another bookshelf and a half — assembled _precisely_ where he wanted them this time. She spied several more of the flat packages containing shelving; she supposed that was why he hadn’t bothered to paint over the boring white of the walls first. No point in having a fun color if it was just going to be covered in books anyway.

“You read a lot, huh?” she commented, as they finished the second — technically third — shelving unit.

“ _Ja_ , I — ah, _fick mich_ ,” he swore, shoving his pinched finger in his mouth for a moment. “These _verdammte_ shelves might make me reconsider, though.”

“What language is that?”

“Hmm?”

“That language,” she said, gesturing vaguely at nothing. “Your accent. I’ve never heard it before. What’s it from?”

“Oh,” he said, settling back on his heels. “It’s Zemnian. Empire. Up north.”

“Really? That’s so cool!” She put down her screwdriver. “You’re a long way from home, then,” she said.

He was silent for a long moment. “This is my home now,” he said finally. Carefully.

She hummed thoughtfully. “Must be different,” she said. “I’ve never been to the Empire.”

“Never?”

She shook her head. “Been here all my life,” she said. “Is it cold up there? I’ve heard it’s cold.”

“Sometimes,” he said.

Dead end. A part of her wanted to push, wanted to hear all about the Empire, about _snow_ , about proper mountains and endless fields with no ocean in sight, but… She let out a puff of air, glancing around at the boxes and bags and clean hardwood floors. “Where’s your cat?”

He blinked at her.

“Well, he’s not _here_ ,” she said. “ _Obviously_. But you’re going to bring him, right? You said you would.” No, that sounded too accusatory. Too demanding. She chewed her lip and batted her eyelashes ridiculously to lighten her statement. “You wouldn’t _lie_ to me, would you, _Cay-leb_?” she said in an exaggerated pout.

Success — his ears went pink. “He’s here,” he said.

Jester’s eyes widened with excitement. “Really?” she said eagerly, shelves forgotten. “Where is he? I haven’t seen him.”

“Oh, he’s, ah, not _here_ , exactly—” He cut himself off, exhaled. “Here, I’ll show you.” And with a snap of his fingers and a small _pop_ , there was a _cat_ , suddenly — _miraculously_ , a gorgeous orange tabby with luminous amber eyes.

“Oh,” said Jester. “My. _Gosh._ ”

The cat — Frumpkin, of course — seemed entirely unconcerned with being materialized into sudden existence, and barely looked at her as he washed his paws with a small pink tongue. He was smaller than she thought he’d be; and yet, bigger. And sleeker, yet fluffier. His long whiskers twitched as he ignored her presence entirely.

_Cats_. She decided she loved them.

“C-can I…?” Her hand hovered in space above him before she even realized she’d begun to ask the question, and the corner of Caleb’s mouth twitched upwards.

“Go ahead.”

Frumpkin paused his washing as her hand lowered tentatively towards that sweet little head, fixing her with those large, alien eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she assured him automatically. “I’ve never met a cat before. I-is it okay if I pet you a little bit?”

Three long, agonizing seconds passed in silence. She didn’t know, entirely, _what_ she was waiting for — permission? From a _cat_? It _sounded_ ridiculous, certainly, when she thought about it like that, but something about this particular cat made her feel like she _should_.

He blinked once, slowly. She took that as a good sign.

From the first tentative touch of her fingertips, she knew she was in love — he was so _soft_ , like what she imagined petting a cloud would feel like. She was entranced, letting her fingers, then her palm run over the smooth, soft fur in gentle strokes. It felt like she could do this forever, honestly, just kneeling on the empty hardwood floor of Caleb’s apartment until her legs fell off from lack of circulation, just petting and petting until she couldn’t feel her hand anymore.

“He likes to be scratched,” suggested Caleb’s voice, distantly from some far-off place. She’d nearly forgotten he was there at all. “Here.” He leaned forward and scratched just behind Frumpkin’s jaw, his long fingers nearly brushing her own in the process. Frumpkin’s whole head shifted at the touch, and for a moment she wanted to shout at Caleb, certain he was pushing too hard — but no, Frumpkin was merely stretching his neck to give him better access, leaning into his fingers. “You can try it, if you want,” said Caleb.

Jester moved her hand hesitantly to the spot on the other side of Frumpkin’s exposed neck, fingers gentle at first, but gradually gaining confidence as Frumpkin started leaning towards her instead. “He _likes_ me!” she whispered elatedly.

“He does,” agreed Caleb.

Frumpkin was rubbing against her hand, and she was pretty sure she was in heaven. “Wait, what’s he—?” She paused her scratching, slightly alarmed, as a strange, low rumbling sound began emanating from beneath her hand.

Caleb was smiling softly, a little crookedly. Her heart jumped. “He’s _purring_.”

She looked down again, and Frumpkin flopped down on his side, halfway on her lap. “ _Purring_ ,” she breathed. “So _that’s_ what that feels like.”

She almost didn’t look up when the door banged open suddenly, revealing a grumpy-looking Beau and a heavily-laden half-orc — Fjord, she remembered — trailing behind her. “The couch is downstairs,” she was saying loudly. “And I swear to Ioun, Caleb Widogast, if you don’t get your skinny wizard ass—” She broke off as she took in the sight before her, at an enchanted Jester and a smiling Caleb, a happily purring Frumpkin between them. “Oh, what the _fuck_ , Caleb?” she complained, throwing her hands exasperatedly in the air. “I’ve — _we’ve_ been running all over the goddamn coast for your stupid furniture, and you just — just _shack up_ with your girlfriend while we’re gone? Thanks a _whole_ bunch, buddy.”

Jester _mostly_ ignored the girlfriend comment — for  _now_  — if only because Frumpkin chose that exact moment to roll over lazily onto his back. She let out a soft gasp. “ _Beau_ ,” she murmured, “he’s _purring_.”

“I — what?” Beau’s expression slipped momentarily into confusion. “Well, _yeah_ , he’s a _cat_. That’s what they _do_.”

“She’s never met a cat before,” Caleb explained.

“What, seriously?” Beau blinked as Fjord trudged past her, depositing his many bags in an unceremonious heap on the kitchen floor. “ _Never_?”

“How’ve you _never_ met a cat?” said Fjord. His voice was deep, a lazy, rolling accent she couldn’t place creating a pleasant lilt to his words.

“We’ve never had pets here,” said Jester distractedly, and gasped again. “Oh, oh _Caleb_ , did you _see_? His little _tongue_ —” The tip of Frumpkin’s tongue, rough and pink, barely poked out of his sweet little mouth, his eyes half-closed in bliss as she continued to scratch and pet. She never wanted to get up from this spot.

“Okay, so, like, as much as I’m _dying_ to let you experience all the wonders cats have to offer,” said Beau, “and believe me, I do — I’m gonna have to insist we get this show on the road, ‘cause, like, I got shit to do? Places to be?”

“Oh,” said Jester, heart sinking. “Oh, yes, of course, I’m sorry.” She looked down again at Frumpkin, at that little fuzzy tummy and his outstretched paws, and patted him again, a little sadly this time. “I’m sorry,” she told him, very sincerely, “but I have to get up now.”

“He doesn’t mind,” said Caleb reassuringly.

“ _I_ do,” mumbled Jester.

Caleb snapped his fingers again and with another small _pop_ the weight and warmth vanished from her knee, and in its place she felt a brief, but sharp sense of _loss_. She definitely, really, _super_ -liked cats now.

Beau put them to work — she was a _fantastic_ coordinator, if a little brusque — and Jester worked diligently, if a little glumly. The phantom feeling of Frumpkin’s soft fur on her fingertips lingered even as time marched on, even as shelves were built and the final bits of furniture and such were brought up, and she was flattening boxes absently when Caleb came up with a large garbage bag. “So,” he said. “How was your first cat experience?”

“It was _wonderful_ ,” she sighed. “He’s so _soft_ , Caleb! And his little _paws_ …”

“ _Ja_ , he’s a pretty good cat.”

“How’d you get him to — y’know, _poof_ like that? Cats can’t usually do that, right?”

“Frumpkin — well, he’s not really a cat.” He paused. “Well, he _is_ , but he… isn’t? He is Fey. I can summon him from the Feywild when I choose.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?” she breathed.

“He is my familiar,” he nodded. “He prefers the cat shape, athough I could change him to something else.”

“You can _do_ that?”

“It is expensive, but yes.”

“So you could have like — like…” Her mind scrambled to catch up with the torrent of ideas all striking her at once. “Like a hamster-Frumpkin? Or a _unicorn_? No, _wait_. A _unicorn-hamster-_ Frumpkin?”

He paused, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I will admit,” he said, “that particular thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but… theoretically, I suppose.”

She gasped, wide-eyed. “That’s so cool,” she said. “You’re _so cool_ , Caleb.”

“Ah,” he said. His ears were pink again. They cleaned in silence for a while, Beau rattling around in the walk-in closet and Fjord cursing over the bedframe, the building of which was apparently stumping him. “You know,” said Caleb eventually, ears still slightly flushed when she glanced at him. “You could always come back, you know. To see Frumpkin.”

Her chest was fluttering again, as she met those ridiculously blue eyes. “You really mean it?”

“I mean, _ja_ , we’re _neighbors_. You might see him around anyway, he tends to come and go sometimes. But he likes you, I think he’d enjoy the visit.”

There was a hidden implication here, and that fluttering was rapidly turning into full-blown butterflies as he held her gaze. “And you?” she heard herself ask softly, heart pounding in her ears.

That crooked smile again — only the briefest of flashes, really, but it had _been_ there — before he turned away, bending to pick up some discarded plastic. “ _Nein_ ,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind either.”

She left a couple of productive hours later — it was late, and Beau had eventually announced that she had _plans_ , goddammit, they could pick this up again tomorrow — but when she crawled into bed that night, the cheerful jingle of her text message alert kept her from immediately passing out.

It was a picture text — from Caleb. A lounging Frumpkin, lying spread-eagled on dark sheets, the very ones spread out over the bed she’d eventually wrestled into submission after Fjord had threatened to throw the whole fuckin’ thing out the fuckin’ window out of sheer frustration. The bed currently almost directly beneath her, at this very moment.

There was no accompanying message, but it didn’t need one. Pictures being worth a thousand words and all that.

She fell asleep smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to expellialbus/baelkaz for giving this a partial once-over when i was (almost) too sleep-deprived to think straight, and shoutout to poyo on the widojest server for spending countless hours hammering out atrocious headcanons for everyone's favorite disaster bi tiefling with me. y'all the real mvps [peace sign emoji]
> 
> posted on tumblr [here.](https://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com/post/185065387748/welcome-to-burlesque-ch5)
> 
> [main.](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com)   
>  [writing blog.](http//ladywritesthings.tumblr.com)   
>  [art blog.](http://bloodandpurpleink.tumblr.com)


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